
































f 



& 













































-•* 4 


, • . r '.V:'. . •" 


iirICnugljUn’a 
OIhriatmaa Annual 


FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 

(AND SOME OLDER ONES) 


CONTAINING CHRISTMAS IN STORY AND SONG 
AS WELL AS INDOOR AMUSEMENTS FOR ^ 
THE CHRISTMAS TIDE AND ’ 

WINTER EVENINGS 


bii iHatiliia 


McLOUGHLlN BROTHERS 

NEW YORK 


PZ- 

,7 

,K1 1(^2" 


neiWJSftHSS 
Fwu OopiiJti riece«»u» 

OCT 28 lauii 

Oonyriani _ 

lDcJ-3.^. I9d6 

CC ^ 

I X9 ^ 

copy B. 

I 1. — ^ — « 



Copyrighted, igos, by 
McLOUGHLIN BROTHERS, NEW YORK. 



CHRISTMAS EVE AT ICICLE - 
GOAL THAT WON. THE 
JUNIOR TEAM, THE ... - 

LITTLE RED SHAWL, THE . 

TRICK PLAY. THE 

WHAT THE HOLIDAYS BROUGHT SID 


^ 


PAGE 

Edward Mott Woolley 21 
. Edward Broderick 51 
Alice Calhoun Haines 29 

James Clarence Harvey 5 

Leslie W. Quirk 1 1 

Frank H. Sweet 41 






^ ^ V 

^ ^ //»• 

f 

m, 

xS /If 













* 




5 



THE, LITTLE RED SHAWL. 

A True Christmas Story in Verse. 

By JAMES CLARENCE HARVEY. 

T he snowflakes fell, all silent and still. 

Like white ghosts dancing on skeleton trees 
And needles of frost sent a shivering chill 
Through every pulse, on the cold north breeze. 
Crouched close, in a corner, a wee, little child. 
With eyes as blue as the summer sky, 

Sought shelter from blasts of the winter wild. 

Too cold to sleep and too brave to cry. 


She thought of the mother whose fading smile 
She never on earth would see again ; 

Of her last faint words: “In a little while 
I shall know no more of grief and pain.” 

Then the men in black had gone away 

With the curtained hearse and their solemn tread 
Had frightened her on that dreadful day 
And far from the desolate place she fled. 



CHRISTMAS IN STORY 


The door of a mansion opened wide, 

A laughing boy, in his coat of fur. 

Stepped out from the warmth and glow inside. 
Came close to the child and spoke to her : 
“Hello! Little girl. Will you come and play?” 

The boy’s bright face was alert and glad. 

“I am so cold,” she tried to say. 

And quickly the laughing eyes grew sad. 

Why don’t you go home? These stones are cold. 

You’ll get all froze in the ice and snow.” 

He shook his head, with its crown of gold. 

She answered : “I don’t know where to go. 

My mama is dead. They took her away. 

The policeman said they would take me too. 
So I ran and ran, for I couldn’t stay. 

All shut in a big, black box. Could you?” 

“I guess you’re a poor little girl,” he said. 

“I’ll give you my pennies and if you’ll wait 
I’ll give you a ride on my bran new sled. 

We’ll ring the bell at the area gate.” 

A window gay, at the end of the street. 

Held Christmas trees, all green and tall. 

With slippers and toys and candies sweet 
And down at the foot was a little red shawl. 


THE LITTLE RED SHAWL 


“Let’s choose in the windows,” exclaimed the boy, 
“I choose the cars and the bat and a ball.” 

“I shouldn’t care,” said the child, “for a toy, 

I wish I could have that little red shawl. 

I’m cold and my fingers are getting blue. 

I’m dreadful afraid that by and by 
You’ll never want me to play with you. 

I’m shivering so that I’m going to cry.” 

The boy was silent, a moment’s space. 

And then a thought that was born of Heaven 
Shone forth in his handsome, kindly face ; 

The thought of a man that was only seven. 

He ran with glee through the open door, 

And some one answered his boyish call : 

“Here’s part of the money. I’ll bring you more. 

I want you to sell me that little red shawl.” 


The man laughed merrily. Well he knew 
The child of the rich man, down the way. 
Might well be trusted a dollar or two. 

But he sternly said : “Be sure you pay.” 

The storm had ceased and the snowflakes white. 
From skies above, had ceased to fall. 

The child’s heart warmed with her new delight. 
The joy supreme of her little red shawl. 



CHRISTMAS IN STORY 





As they turned away, the boy said: “Now 
We must do our best to pay the man, 

And, nice little girl, I know just how 
To earn the money. I’m sure we can. 

I’ll get my shovel and broom and then 
We’ll go to the houses along the street, 

And shovel the snow, just like the men. 

And leave the sidewalks clean and neat.” 

Oh ! how they worked, with their cheeks aglow ! 

And kindly faces looked on and smiled. 

And none of the walks so free from snow 
As those swept clean by the happy child. 

But when they hurried to pay their debt. 

The rich and the poor. Strange little pair ! 

Her small chin quivered. Her eyes were wet 
And with hunger weakened she fainted there. 


“My mama will know just what to do.” 

The boy was startled but not afraid. 

The mother-love was enough for two. 

It was his to share with the little maid. 

Then strong arms lifted the pallid form 
And bore her away to the mansion tall. 

Wrapped close from the cold, quite safe and warm. 
In the clinging folds of the little red shawl. 



THE LITTLE RED SHAWL 


9 


Next morning the sunbeams, stealing in, 

Through the filmy curtains of priceless lace, 

Fell light and soft on the features thin 
Of the blue-eyed orphan’s dainty face. 

Her questioning eyes roved, wondering, ’round, 
And she asked of the little man of seven: 

“Did I die last night, when I fell to the ground? 
Did they take me away and is this Heaven?” 

“And are you an angel?” she murmured low, 

To the woman who bent in tenderness 
Above the bed that was white as snow; 

“My mother is glad I’ve come, I guess.” 

With whispered words they answered her. 

By slow degrees she learned it all. 

And then her eyes began to blur, 

As she cried : “They’ve taken my little red shawl. 


It was brought to her and day by day 

The wan blood crept to her wan pale face. 
And the boy brought flowers and games to play, 
Till her childish laughter filled the place. 

But oftentimes, in her mirth and glee. 

Her cheek would pale and her voice was low. 
As she asked : “What will become of me. 

When I get all well and I have to go?” 



10 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



But Heaven is kind to each little waif, 

Who tries to live as its children should, 

And the angels watch and keep them safe. 

If they learn the lesson that God is good. 

And time went by like a happy dream. 

She learned to love and she learned to pray. 
And woke with a smile to that first, bright beam 
Of the golden sun, on Christmas day. 



Her stocking was full to its very top 

With all the things she had wished for long. 

She didn’t know where to start or stop. 

Her heart was so full of laughter and song. 

So the day fled by and the candles gleamed 
On a mighty tree in a mansion grand. 

And the joyous child believed she dreamed 
A wondrous vision of fairy-land. 

And when the mother and father proud 
With kisses tender embraced their boy. 

Their heart-thoughts sweet were breathed aloud. 

As they asked what further could bring him joy. 

He kissed his playmate and heard them say 

His wishes were theirs. They would grant them all. 
So he asked that the child might always stay. 

As a sister dear, with her little red shawl. 


THE TRICK PLAY 

By LESLIE W. QUIRK. 


11 


T he coach puckered his brow thoughtfully. 

“As I understand it,” he said slowly, looking at 
the dots and lines on the paper, “the ball is passed 
from this point clear across to this one.” 

“Yes,” agreed Blenner eagerly; “yes, that’s it. The trick is 
brand new, so far as I know, though it’s so ridiculously simple 
that it’s a wonder others haven’t -discovered it. It will work 
nine times out of ten.” 

“And the tenth time?” asked the coach, in his slow, deliber- 
ate way. “When we play that post-season game on Christmas 
day, out in California, there must be no chance for a bungle. 
A single misplay might mean the game.” 

The other’s face clouded. 

“Well, Jordan,” he admitted; “if the trick does fail, there’s 

a great unprotected gap just here, and ” He hesitated. 

“And a touchdown for the other team,” finished the coach, 
“Ye — er — yes, I suppose it might easily amount to that. 

But with a little practice and a cool, steady quarterback, it ” 

“Oh !” exclaimed the coach. Before Blenner looked at him, 
he knew that the disappointment in his tone had been recog- 
nized. “ ‘Midget’ Blake could never handle it at a crucial 
moment, and we must use him.” 

Coach Jordan spoke decisively. 

“But ” 






12 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



“We will abandon the idea,” said the coach, so evenly that 
the queer pain in his heart passed unsuspected. “We dare not 
take the chance with the ‘Midget’ at quarterback.” 

Almost before he had finished, the door opened and “Midget” 
Blake walked into the room. 

Some impulse made Blenner show the boy the paper and go 
over minutely the details of the play. As the idea dawned 
upon him. The Midget’s eyes grew round and big. 

“Oh !” he exclaimed, in boyish delight. “It is just the thing, 
just the thing. Isn’t it, Mr. Jordan?” 

The coach’s grizzled eyebrows lowered a little. He clenched 
his hands as if to gain courage for what he was about to say. 

“We shall not use it,” he began, in the quiet, calm voice that 
was a part of the man; “because a single slip might mean the 
loss of the game, and because you. Midget, are very apt to 
grow excited and lose your head at the critical instant.” 

The little quarter’s face went very red. The coach felt gen- 
uinely sorry for the boy, but he did not regret having spoken 
plainly. It might key him up for the game. 

“I see,” said The Midget, after a long pause; “I see.” He 
moistened his lips as if to speak again ; then he turned toward 
the door, quite forgetting his errand, and went out. 

Blenner looked at Jordan curiously. 

“It hurt,” he hazarded. 

“The truth always does,” agreed Jordan quietly. “I am 
afraid of what that boy will do in the Christmas game ; I can’t 
depend on him. The game is for the championship of the 



THE TRICK PLAY 


13 


West, of course, and it means so much to me that”— he coughed 
a little to clear his throat — “that I dare not think of the result 
if he should fail me.” 

So the new trick was never given a trial. The coach drilled 
the eleven on straight plays. Afternoon after afternoon the 
team practised; practised till every man was ready to drop 
from sheer exhaustion, till only the confidence in the coach 
and the love for the old college kept the players from rebelling. 
Evening after evening, under the blinding glare of the arc 
lights in the gymnasium, the eleven players went through sig- 
nal practice, going over the same formations time after time 
until at last each man was only a cog in the great wheel of 
team-play. When the day of the game arrived the eleven was 
at its best. 

On Christmas morning, the coach was the first one in the 
dining-room of the hotel. He wanted to see that the food at 
the training table was exactly as ordered, and that everything 
was in readiness. He could take the brunt of the irritating 
details that must be kept from the players. 

A step sounded behind him, and a voice called : 

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Jordan!” 

It was The Midget, and despite the entreaty in the boy’s 
voice, the coach’s return salutation was gruff and inexpressive. 
The little quarter-back turned away quickly, and presently the 
coach forgot him as the twenty fellows in the squad noisily 
found their places at the table. 

But from the niinute the team donned its football suits. The 






14 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 





Midget was in Jordan’s thoughts constantly. A queer fear 
gnawed at the coach’s heart; something seemed to tell him 
that the game would be sacrificed because of the boy’s sudden 
loss of grip on himself. He would “go to pieces” just when 
he should be calm. Had it been possible for Jordan to be near 
him and encourage him there would be no cause for alarm. 
But he could only stand on the side-lines, barred from coaching 
by the rules, and work his grizzled eyebrows as the one out- 
ward indication of his agony of mind. 

His captain won the toss. With a last word of encourage- 
ment to his players, and a warning to The Midget, Jordan 
strode over to the side-lines and threw a heavy sweater over 
his shoulders. He was too restless to sit down. 

He saw Fulton, captain of the other team, place the ball on 
the little mound of dirt he had built. Each of his players was 
in position, alert, yet fearing the first kick-off. As from a dis- 
tance came the official’s question, “Are you ready?” and the 
repetition of the word “ready” from the two captains. Then 
Fulton swung his powerful leg, and with a dull thud kicked 
the ball high into the air. 

Pendon, whom Jordan trusted implicitly, caught the pigskin, 
and ran it back a good fifteen yards. Almost before he was 
downed. The Midget’s shrill voice was calling to the men to 
line up. There was a note of excitement in it that dulled the 
coach’s eyes with despair. The signals came fast and un- 
evenly, there was a sudden surge forward — and The Midget 
had fumbled the ball! 



THE TRICK PLAY 


15 




Jordan drew his breath gaspingly, and placed his cool hand 
over his brow. Was the game to go like this? True, the 
fumble had meant merely the loss of the ball, but that was 
quite enough. He wanted to shout to The Midget to brace up, 
to quit making a fool of himself. But he knew the rules about 
coaching from the side-lines too well. 

The boy played back on defense. Jordan watched him anx- 
iously, and even from his position could see the unnatural red 
of his cheeks and the nervous movements that betokened tre- 
mendous excitement. Bit by bit, as each scrimmage was 
ended. The Midget crept nearer to the line of play. Jordan’s 
eyebrows were slanting toward each other, and a deep furrow 
divided his forehead. His heart seemed to be pumping furi- 
ously, and a nausea of fear made him stagger as he walked. 

At last the thing which he was afraid came to pass. An end 
run, timed to the instant, and behind splendid interference, 
swept down the tacklers like a mower. A lithe figure, padded 
and hideous with nose guard and head gear, shot out of the 
tangle, with the ball tucked under his left arm. 

And The Midget — The Midget, who should have been far 
down the field, waiting for just such a play, had crept so close 
to the line that the runner was out of his reach long before 
the boy’s brain spurred him on toward the man with the ball ! 
It was a touchdown for the other team, and the resulting goal 
made the score 6-o. The Midget had “lost his head.” 

Jordan paced up and down the side-lines like a wild animal 
caged in a narrow confine. Nobody could appreciate how 


;fri; 


f 


16 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



much the game meant to him, he thought bitterly; nobody 
understood that turning out a championship team was his only 
business, and that every month of the whole year he gave him- 
self, heart and soul, to the problem of how to do it. And now, 
because of one player, his twelve months of work were to 
amount to nothing. The Midget had made him fail, 

Presently an appreciation of what he had done seemed to 
brace the little quarter-back. His work was slower, but he 
took the extra time to think. He played with all the might of 
his little body and all the courage of his big heart. No one had 
ever accused The Midget of cowardice. 

So through the first half the teams struggled, one gaining 
the necessary five yards joyously as the other gave way sul- 
lenly. Every inch was contested; every advance was the re- 
sult of brawn and science. Even Jordan, when his heart grew 
quieter, felt his eyes glow with admiration. Not since the old 
Harvard- Yale games, with their scores of o-o, had he seen such 
magnificent football. 

Up in the grandstands and bleachers the crowd was frantic. 
The pennants waved continuously, like a field of flowers swept 
by a gale. Horns tooted; megaphones bellowed; everywhere 
staid men and women shouted like children. It was a game to 
kindle the blood., 

But when the first half ended the score was still 6-o. 


In the dressing-room, where sore limbs were being mas- 
saged, and cuts and scratches attended to, Jordan spoke to the 
players. 



THE TRICK PLAY 


17 


“Boys,” he said, “you have played magnificently, except at 

the first, and only one ” He stopped suddenly, as he 

caught The Midget’s troubled blue eyes full upon him. Some- 
thing of the dull despair in the boy’s heart appealed to him. 
All at once, he was sorry for the plucky little quarter-back ; the 
anger left his heart as quickly as it had come. 

“You have played magnificently,” he repeated. “And no 
man among you, after those first few minutes, has played a 
better game than Midget Blake! Now, go in and win, boys. 
Remember what it means to the old college, what it means to 
you, what it means to me ! You must win, boys ; you can do it 
yet.” 

And then, when the eyes of every player were wide and 
steely with determination, he outlined the plan of action for 
the second half. As the men filed out into the field again, the 
coach placed a hand on The Midget’s shoulder. 

“I’m depending on you. Midget,” he said simply; and even 
as he spoke he felt the shoulders square and the form quiver. 

Up in the grandstands the crowd was amazed at the life that 
had been infused into Jordan’s team. Every player seemed a 
demon as he shot down the field. Irresistible the eleven was, 
and yard by yard, chalk-line by chalk-line, it pushed its way 
toward the looming goal-posts. It seemed no power on earth 
could stop it, and five minutes after the beginning of the 
second half the ball was down behind the goal-line, and the 
score was tied. 

The coach watched anxiously. He knew the men were play- 







18 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 







ing on false strength, and he feared the collapse would come 
before the touch-down was made. Once Pendon faltered, and 
it was The Midget’s prod and word of encouragement that kept 
him on his feet. The little quarter-back played as if his heart 
were as calm as any other; Jordan, who was perhaps the only 
one to appreciate the turmoil there, felt his eyes soften. After 
all, The Midget had recouped what he had lost. 

After the touch-down came the reaction. Pendon and Teale 
went out of the game, thoroughly exhausted, and the substi- 
tutes took their places. The eleven 'was weakened perceptibly 
by this change, and could do no more than hold its own. Jor- 
dan found himself saying over and over in a whisper, “We 
must have another touch-down ; we must !” 

From the field came the announcement, “Five minutes more 
to play!” Jordan drew himself up, quivering. The game 
would be a tie, then; that was better than defeat, of course, 

but He clenched his hands and waited, hoping against 

hope. 

The other team had the ball. The quarter-back was running 
over the numbers. Suddenly a voice cried, “Change signals,” 
and the captain strode forward. There was a brief whispered 
consultation, and a sudden shift in the back field. Jordan 
watched, with his eyebrows snarling fearfully. What did it 
mean? 

Then he understood ! 

The formation was for the very trick play that Blenner had 
shown him. It would succeed nine times out of ten. And not 



THE TRICK PLAY 


19 


a man on his team knew anything at all of the formation or 
its execution. Jordan groaned, and his eyes blurred. He 
would lose the game after all! 

Suddenly he thought of The Midget. Blenner had explained 
the trick to him ; to the very player whose lack of a cool head 
would prevent his recognizing it in time. Why had he been 
such a fool as not to explain it to the others? 

“I must warn them,” he told himself, driven almost frantic 
by the possibilities of the play. He was unaware of the fact 
that he was speaking the words aloud. “A single cry — it will 
break the rules of coaching, but we can’t lose ; we can’t ! Oh ! 
why doesn’t The Midget keep his head?” 

He stopped, with his thoughts gone like a flash. Out there 
on the field, a little player was standing up, just behind the 
line, waiting like a hawk. He had left his position back in the 
field, in spite of the other disastrous blunder. It could mean 
but one thing: The Midget had recognized the play. 

Jordan whipped the sweater from his shoulders, and knelt 
on the ground. His legs were trembling so much that he 
feared to stand. His face was damp with perspiration. His 
hands were clenching and loosing spasmodically. His white 
teeth were gritted hard. In another minute 

He saw the other quarter-back stoop suddenly, with up- 
turned palms, and the ball snap into them. In the moment of 
hesitation, the team surged to the left to further the trick. 
The ball must go through the air, over the unprotected gap, to 
the right. 




20 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



&■ 




The quarter-back whirled and threw the ball with the whole 
force of his arm. Jordan saw it start, swift and sure as an 
arrow. But out there, where the gap had been an instant 
before, was The Midget. He was running forward slowly, 
gauging his position nicely, and as cool as if the whole game 
did not depend upon his playing. 

Jordan sprang to his feet. He wanted to yell, to shout out 
at the top of his voice. He was trembling with emotion, and 
breathing quickly as if he were just regaining his breath. 

Something held him back, however, and he stood there 
silent, grinning like a schoolboy, as The Midget was off down 
the clear field with the ball. The coach’s hands opened and 
shut as the boy crossed each chalk-mark, and when at last he 
had scored, the man on the side-lines opened his moist palms 
and let out his breath with a great sigh of relief. The game 
had been won through the clear-headedness of Midget Blake. 

They met in the dressing-room. Jordan’s excitement had 
left him without speech, and he could only take The Midget’s 
hand in his and hold it tight. For a long minute the boy gazed 
at the jubilant crowd about them. Then he turned to the 
coach and said impulsively: 

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Jordan!” 

“Merry Christmas, Midget!” returned the man; and this 
time there was that in the tone that made the little quarter- 
back’s cheeks glow red and happy. 



CHRISTMAS EVE AT ICICLE: 

A Story of Early California. 

By EDWARD MOTT WOOLLEY. 


W HEN his father brought him to Icicle camp he 
was five years old — a motherless little chap, 
forlorn and neglected. Almost the first thing 
he did after reaching Icicle was to drag a battered old drum 
from the baggage that had been brought along, and within ten 
minutes of his arrival he was marching up and down the camp 
in true military style. It was when one of the delighted min- 
ers gravely asked him if he were a captain that he made the 
reply which immortalized him : 

“No; a major.” 

Folks in San Francisco had called him Ben, but he was “the 
Major” after that at Icicle. There never had been a child or 
woman in the camp before, and it didn’t take the Major long 
to establish an absolute monarchy, with himself upon the 
throne. From his dictates there was no appeal. His slightest 
wish was law, and, furthermore, his faithful subjects vied with / ^ 
each other to foresee and provide such pleasures for his majesty 
as the resources of Icicle made possible. That was how it 
came to pass that a Christmas tree was planned that year. 

Icicle mining camp was buried in the mouth of the canon, 
where the foothills of the Sierras began to give way to the 
steeper slopes and loftier ridges. It was many miles from Sac- 
ramento, but “Big Jack” and “Lonesome Charlie,” serfs of the 



^ 3 ^ 












22 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 


Major, made two trips to that town in pursuance of the secret 
plans for Christmas. Once they went in search of sundry toys 
and baubles, which, not being procurable in Sacramento, were 
ordered from San Francisco. The second trip they made for 
the purpose of fetching back in person certain mysterious pack- 
ages which were not to be trusted to the freighters, and which 
were smuggled into camp surreptitiously at night, while the 
Major was asleep. As for the Christmas tree itself, that was a 
simple matter, for all the mountains roundabout were covered 
with Christmas trees, needing only the ax. 

The day preceding Christmas was one of intense but sup- 
pressed excitement and activity at Icicle. It was a day fraught 
with mysteries, from which the Major, however, was rigidly 
excluded, and it was on this account that the whole thing hap- 
pened. The miners were so much absorbed in preparations 
for the Major’s entertainment that the Major himself was for- 
gotten. 

Left to his own resources, therefore, the subject of all these 
unwonted doings fell to parading up and down the camp with 
his drum, followed at every step by his faithful staff officer, 
Bruno, who, although a cur of insignificant physique and 
doubtful lineage, never was known to fail in executing on the 
instant any maneuver ordered by his superior. The Major, 
the drum and Bruno, the miners said, were three of a kind. - 

Heretofore, the Major had been quite content to continue 
his military operations to the immediate vicinity of the camp, 
although he had remarked more than once to Bruno that he 


CHRISTMAS EVE AT ICICLE 


23 


believed the opposing army, when it marched to the fray, 
would come over the crest of Icicle Mountain, rising abruptly 
overhead until it touched the sky. Now, however, prompted 
by some psychological phenomenon beyond explanation, the 
Major elected to advance, himself, upon the enemy. 

“You see,” he said to Bruno, as they made the start, accom- 
panied by the hosts of the invisible army, “we’ve got to get 
to the top of the mountain before those other soldiers get there 
from the opposite side. If we get there ahead of ’em, we can 
shoot ’em all to pieces, you know, ’cause it’s so much easier to 
shoot down hill than up.” 

Bruno, no doubt, understood quite clearly, for he wagged 
his tail and cocked his head knowingly. 

The rains had been extraordinarily light in the foothills that 
winter, and the scarcity of snow higher up had been remark- 
able, so the Major’s ascent was not impeded in that respect, 
however difficult he found the climbing. Even little feet may 
put quite a distance behind them in an hour of earnest en- 
deavor, and when the swift-footed twilight of Christmas Eve 
fell over Icicle Mountain the boy and the dog paused for 
breath far up on the slope, where a little rocky crevice opened 
into the hillside. The departing rays of the sun were still 
caressing the icy peak, up toward the clouds, but down on the 
mountain-side, and below, where Icicle camp nestled invisible 
in the bowels of the gulch, the quick gloom was settling heav- 
ily. In those regions the night follows on the heels 
almost the suddenness of a curtain drawn before i 















24 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



-OV - 





. , , 

W' 



“Bruno,” said the Major, as he sat himself down, exhausted, 
upon a little gravel heap, washed out from the crack in the 
mountain, “I don’t think we’ll get to the top to-night; do you?” 

There was a suspicious quaver in the Major’s voice. Bruno 
wagged his stub of a tail and poked his cold nose into his mas- 
ter’s hands. 

“I’m ’fraid it’s gettin’ dark, Bruno,” the Major remarked, 
looking uneasily at the sky. “Soldiers don’t gen’rally give up 
just ’cause it gets dark, I guess; but I ’most forgot it’ll be 
Christmas Eve pretty soon, and maybe, if you’n me was back 
at Icicle, Bruno, we might get somethin’ — maybe !” 

Bruno stood on his hind legs and whined. It was clear 
enough that he meant to say : 

“Come along then. Major ; let’s get home as fast as we can, 
’cause we might get somethin’ — maybe !” 

The Major, attracted at the moment by an object that glit- 
tered in the gravel heap on which he sat, bent over and picked 
up a jagged bit of something yellow. 

“See the pretty stone !” he said to Bruno. 

But Bruno, unappreciative, only whined the more. 

“I don’t know,” the Major went on, doubtfully, “how Sandy 
Claws would ever get to Icicle; do you?” 

Bruno showed by his actions that he did not know. 

“But my Pa said he would, anyhow!” insisted the Major. 
“And ‘Big Jack’ said so, too, and ‘Lonesome Charlie,’ and all 
of ’em. They said Sandy Claws would come, if I was good. 
I have been good, ain’t I, Bruno?” 





CHRISTMAS EVE AT ICICLE 


25 


Bruno almost turned a somersault in his eagerness to reply 
in the affirmative. 

“Well, I guess we’d better be goin’,’’ concluded the Major, 
rising; “’cause we don’t want to let Sandy Claws get there 
ahead of us, you know.” 

It was not many minutes before the fastnesses of Icicle 
Mountain were enshrouded in the inky pall of a moonless and 
starless night, for heavy snow clouds had gathered suddenly 
and the swirl of the flakes came through the scattering pine 
and larch trees. The wind arose and howled over the crags 
higher up on the Icicle in frenzied glee, while the wintry blast, 
sweeping through the canon, sent the mercury down and down 
in a manner which left no doubt that Boreas, long delayed, 
had come indeed, to pave the way for St. Nicholas. 

Down in Icicle camp the tallow candles on the Christmas 
tree actually had been lighted before the startled cry went up : 

“Where’s the Major?” 

There was no answer to this query. It was half dark already 
among the pines of the camp, and the joyousness of Christmas 
Eve was turned suddenly into woe. 

“Where’s the Major? Oh, God! where’s the Major?” 

The cry was agonized now, for a hasty search of the camp 
and clearing made it apparent that the boy was, indeed, gone. 
There was no trace of him, and the frantic shouts that were 
sent echoing through those black, repellent mountains brought 
back only mocking cries and dismal wails — half human. He 
was gone — gone somewhere into those storm-swept hills, so 




. ^ 












20 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



filled with lurking pitfalls for his small wandering feet, so full 
of unknown terrors for this baby autocrat of Icicle. 

The candles on the Christmas tree were extinguished in 
silence. Outside, the miners were being quickly marshaled by 
Jackson, owner of the “Red Bucket” claim, who, by common 
consent, assumed the leadership in the emergency. Jackson 
was six feet six inches tall and weighed two hundred and fifty 
pounds, but he was one of the most devoted of the Major’s 
slaves. In truth, however, there was not a man among them 
who would not have braved death to protect the boy from 
harm. There was not one of them who would not have walked 
into the jaws of the deadliest perils for the Major. At that 
season there were not over fifty men at Icicle, many having 
gone to San Francisco for the worst of the rainy season. 
Icicle camp had not developed many “dry diggings,” and high 
water in the creek interfered with placer mining. 

“Boys,” said Jackson, as he surveyed the breathless little 
group that stood before him in the semi-darkness, “this ain’t no 
time for blab, and I ain’t goin’ to waste words tellin’ you that 
we got to git that boy, and git him quick. I guess I don’t need 
to emph’size that. I reckon you all know it, ’thout bein’ told. 
The Major’s gone, and they ain’t nobody, so fur’s I kin find, 
who’s seen him fur an hour or more. Still, he can’t ’a’ gone 
fur into the mountains, and if he ain’t been washed down the 
creek, we got a fair chance o’ findin’ him afore it’s too late. 
Now, I’m goin’ to appint ev’ry man at Icicle a posse by him- 
self. We’ll make a circle here, standin’ back to back, and 





CHRISTMAS EVE AT ICICLE 


27 


when we start each man ’ll take the course straight ahead. 
They ain’t none o’ you to come back afore daylight — unless 
you find the Major, or unless you see a big fire burnin’ on the 
slope up above the stream. That ’ll mean the boy’s been found. 
I reckon I don’t need to give no further ’structions. If the 
boy’s to be got, one of us ’ll git him. That’s all I got to say.” 

So they went out into the blinding storm — some of them 
carrying flaring torches, some going in the dark. In all direc- 
tions they spread out over the wild country that stretched 
about Icicle Mountain, and for hours they stumbled up and 
down the slopes, beating their way through the snow, while 
they made the mountains ring with their shouts. Sometimes 
they came upon one another in their search. Sometimes, di- 
recting their voices by the torches that glimmered feebly 
through the blizzard, they called back and forth from slope to 
slope. But to every such inquiry that was sent through the 
night there came back the same reply : 

“No trace of the Major; keep up the hunt.” 

And they did keep it up, though their hope oozed away as 
the minutes drifted into hours and the night grew old. 

It was not far from dawn when Jackson, still striding over 
the Icicle slope with frantic, undiminished energy, heard a 
sound that made his very heart stand still. It was the faint, 
exhausted barking of the Major’s canine aide-de-camp. 

A few steps further, and Jackson found the Major himself, 
lying against a bowlder and covered by two feet of drifted 
snow, but guarded by the half-dead dog. 


-y 7 ^ I 'J n\'// 







28 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



v.H 

«•' '/i- 





Jackson lifted the motionless form in his arms, a wave of 
mental agony swaying his own giant frame. Then he laid the 
boy back on the snow, and, taking his knife from its sheath, he 
slit open the little jacket and shirt. Kneeling in the drift and 
pressing his ear against the small naked breast, he listened, 
with all his faculties concentrated. But the Major’s heart made 
no response, for his spirit had awakened that Christmas morn- 
ing in a land of which Jackson scarcely dared to dream. 

When they unclasped the stiffened fingers, down at the 
camp, they discovered that the Major still clung in death to the 
“pretty stone’’ he had found up on the Icicle. It was nothing 
more nor less than a nugget, from a pocket in the quartz. It 
marked the discovery of the celebrated “Major” claim, in which 
all the miners then at Icicle became partners. But forever 
afterward the Christmas tree at Icicle was a memory that gave 
a melancholy flavor to the golden stream that poured so freely 
from the recesses of the mountain. 







29 


THE JUNIOR TEAM. 



“G 


By ALICL CALHOUN* HAINES. 

OOD! good! good!” shouted the bunch of 
Freshmen who had wandered somewhat aim- 
lessly up to the gym gallery but a moment be- 
fore. Now they leaned far over the rail, stamping, applauding, 
waving enthusiastic handkerchiefs. 

“Little idiots!” remarked Sallie Taft, the manager, shaking 
her fist at them from the floor below. 

“Marion, you had no business to do that,” she continued 
bluntly. “You should have passed the ball.” 

Marion Constable, tall, slender, the popular captain of the 
Junior basket-ball team, pointed triumphantly to the plump 
outlines of the still quivering net. 

“Now, Sallie, don’t be grouchy,” she coaxed. “I made my 
goal.” 

“Your goal Lyes,” answered the enigmatic Sallie; but her 
criticism, if criticism it were, was drowned by the lusty inquiry 
of an appreciative Junior from the further end of the gym. 

“What’s the matter wirti Marion?” the Junior wanted to 
know, to which original proposition the Freshmen responded 
with shrill ardor, while the pretty captain laughed and blushed 
in her own charming unspoiled way. 

It had been a striking play, sure enough, a goal from center, 
one that would have brought down the house in a match game. 
Neither Julia Hastings or May Baldwin, admittedly the most 


30 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 


brilliant players of their year in college, had done anything to 
equal it for weeks. With the realization of this fact Marion 
glanced to where the girls in question stood waiting for the 
ball to be brought back into play, and a queer thrill of triumph 
shot through her veins. It was worth while to outshine such 
champions as Julia and May. Then, recalling Sallie Taft’s im- 
pulsive rebuke, the captain smiled to herself. Sallie was a 
peppery little body who took the responsibilities of her posi- 
tion with undue seriousness at times; yet despite her small 
tyrannies and exactions she was loved by all. 



The practicing began again with renewed interest; but the 


Freshman group in the gallery broke and dispersed, recalled to 


various personal engagements of work and play. 

“I tell you,” remarked a little fluffy-haired enthusiast to her 
room-mate as the two passed out through the gymnasium door, 
“the Juniors are going to win to-morrow afternoon, and I’m 


glad. With three such players on their side as Julia Hastings, 
Marion Constable and May Baldwin, they ought to wipe up 
the earth with our respected sisters of the class of ig — .” 


“It will be a great game,” admitted the room-mate, “how- 


ever it turns out, and that shoot was worth seeing, sure 


enough; but, child, do you recollect that we have six guests 
invited to drink tea with us this evening, and there is not an 
ounce of butter in the house.” 






THE JUNIOR TEAM 


31 


captain’s indiscretion, communed gloomily with her own soul. 

“If it had been May Baldwin,’’ she argued, “or even Julia 
Hastings, I would not have been surprised ; but Marion knows 
better. This thing has gone far enough. The Junior team 
needs a straight talk, and it is going to get it.’’ 

“Girls,’’ she began some half-hour later, as the players in 
various stages of deshabille stood chatting about the dressing- 
room; “you aren’t counting any longer, of course, on winning 
to-morrow’s match?’’ 

“Sallie !’’ was the general shout. “What do you mean, child? 
What are you talking about?” 

“About to-morrow afternoon,” answered Sallie coolly, “and 
the Senior-Junior game.” 

“Who will win, I’d like to know, if we don’t?” demanded 
Edna Swift, a wiry little girl who played guard. “With Marion 
making the shoot of the season this very afternoon, and May 
and Julia for forwards. You must be crazy, Sallie! Why, 
the Seniors haven’t a player that can touch May Baldwin, and 
you know it.” 

“Yes,” admitted Sallie steadily, “that is perfectly true, Edna. 
The Seniors haven’t a player that can touch May; but, then, 
they don’t need one, for you see they have a team.” 

“A team, well I like that,” declared Marion, asserting her- 
self with unexpected ire. “And what have we, if you please, C 
Mrs. Manager?” 

“Just a few stars, I should say,” answered Sallie and turned 
to the rearrangement of her side-combs before the glass. 







32 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 





There was a moment’s dramatic silence. Then May Bald- 
win spoke. 

“Sallie,” she said, “you have gone too far not to go a little 
further. We are all very much interested. Will you please 
explain?” 

“Yes,” answered Sallie, undaunted by May’s tone and the 
general atmosphere of suppressed hostility. “I suppose I had 
better. It is this way, girls — you see, as you don’t any longer 
play the opposing team alone, but one another as well, we can’t 
possibly expect to win.” 

Marion looked at Sallie uncertainly for a moment. Then a 
sudden light of comprehension dawned in her eyes. 

“It is my goal you are thinking about,” she divined. “Per- 
haps I ought not to have done it, Sallie dear. It was a play 
to the galleries.” And she came penitently and threw one 
arm about the neck of the irate team manager. 

“You’re all right, Marion,” Sallie answered with a forgiving 
pat, though I will admit that it was this afternoon that finally 
opened my eyes and determined me to speak. What I have 
to say isn’t exactly pleasant, but it is true and I should not be 
doing my duty if I kept quiet. There has got to be a general 
reform, here and now, if we expect to win in to-morrow’s 
match. All stars please take notice,” and Sallie’s glance di- 
rectly sought May Baldwin’s defiant face. “Individual plays 
won’t do. It is a team we want. Petty jealousies and rival- 
ries are out of place in basket-ball. I’ve been suspecting 
things for a long time; but it was a remark that I overheard 


// 


THE JUNIOR TEAM 


33 


Miss Fuchs make the other day on the ice that swept away 
my last doubt.” 

Now Miss Fuchs was the college physical director, and any 
criticism from her was well worth listening to. 

“What was it? What was it?” clamored several voices. 
May Baldwin’s was not among them. 

“She was skating just ahead of me with a friend,” Sallie pro- 
ceeded deliberately, regardless in the face of May’s studied 
hostility how hard her words might hit. “And they were 
talking about the different attitude of men and women toward 
sport, I wasn’t especially interested at first, as they were 
being rather broad-minded and philosophical and all that, till 
suddenly I heard Miss Fuchs say: ‘Yes, of course, that is the 
fundamental difference — take basket-ball, for instance. The 


\ 


idea of sinking her own individuality in the larger unit of the 
team, and sacrificing the hope of personal applause to team 
success seems almost impossible for some girls to master. They 
learn the individual plays quickly enough, and some of them 
are even brilliant in their manner of handling the ball; but 
esprit du corps is the very last thought that seems ever to 
appeal to them. In our own Junior team, for example, there 

is a girl ’ And here, just where I was most breathlessly 

interested, a string of giddy Freshmen cut between and sepa- 
rated us.” 

Again there fell a momentary silence. 

“It is a pity that you cannot publish the name of the girl 
with the rest of your story, Sallie,” said May evenly at last. 



34 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 





conscious that every eye in the room was fixed upon her face. 
“However, perhaps your very ambiguity lends spice, and I 
am sure you are happy to be warned in time.” Then picking 
up her scarlet sweater she advanced to the door where Marion, 
the captain, stood with flushed cheeks and troubled eyes. 

“Marion,” she continued in the same clear, indifferent tones, 
“after what has happened this afternoon there seems only one 
course left for me to take. Since it is generally agreed on all 
sides that I am the sole obstacle between you girls and victory 
to-morrow I hereby tender my resignation from the team.” 

“May!” cried Marion in a frightened breath. Then, with 
quick recovery of her dignity : “I cannot accept a verbal with- 
drawal,” she said. “You are angry and excited, acting on an 
impulse that your saner judgment will regret. Of course, we 
do not care to keep you if you do not care to stay, though you 
know what your dropping out of the game at this hour would 
mean. If, after due consideration, however, you write out a 
formal resignation and send it to me, I must, of course, accept 
it.” 

“You may expect it in to-morrow morning’s mail,” answered 
May steadily, and swung nonchalantly ’from the room. 

“Sallie!” cried the captain, turning upon her manager with 
reproach in every feature. “You hit too hard that time. What 
have you done?” 

“Nothing that I regret in the least degree,” answered Sallie 
doggedly. “If May cannot play with the team she had better 
leave it.” Then, including the roomful of excited girls with a 



/ / 




THE JUNIOR TEAM 

comprehensive sweep of her hand: “Mind, you fellows, this 
is class business. Not a word of what has passed here to any- 
body. We aren’t going to lose our game, and we aren’t going 
to lose our May. She only wants a little time to think. You’ll 
see.” 

But May as she cut across the campus through the swirling 
snow eddy of a brisk December storm was too angry to think. 
Naturally a proudly sensitive girl Sallie’s public rebuke had cut 
more deeply than that evenly-balanced young person could 
well have believed; and the very arrogance of May’s nature 
made her apply the criticism more directly to herself. It was 
outrageous, she argued, unsportsmanlike, and unfair. Since 
Freshman days she had played on her class team. Light, re- 
sourceful and tremendously plucky, her reputation had grown 
season by season till now she was universally acknowledged 
one of the most brilliant forwards the college had ever known. 
Up to the present term, indeed. May had accepted her successes 
with easy nonchalance, unconscious even how much she valued 
them. But with the coming of Julia Hastings all this had 
changed; rather ridiculously, too, when one considered that it 
was May herself who had secured Julia for the team, recogniz- 
ing in the girl’s splendid physique and unusual stature excel- 
lent basket-ball material that ought not to be wasted. And at 
first she had felt as whole-souled an appreciation of Julia’s 
prowess as little Edna Swift or any of the other girls; but as 
the weeks went by and Julia’s credit grew a subtle insidious 
jealousy began to take possession of May’s mind. The ap- 







36 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



plause and praise which had been all her own she found it 
almost impossible to share with another, and bit by bit a 
steadily growing antagonism developed in her play till it be- 
came a self-acknowledged fact that she would rather run the 
risk of losing a goal herself than give Julia Hastings the oppor- 
tunity to make one. Nor was this the worst. Little by little 
the personal element and desire for individual praise spread 
from player to player, till even honest, equable Marion was 
lured into an occasional lapse such as that of this afternoon, 
which had succeeded in bringing down the wrath of the irate 
little manager upon the assembled team. 

“No room for petty rivalries and jealousies in basket-ball.” 
May lashed herself into a white heat of indignation as she re- 
viewed Sallie’s words. They were true, every one of them; 
and their very truth flickering across the raw of her own 
wretched consciousness made their sting. So the girls had 
known her weakness all along, had talked it over together! 
How they had watched her during Sallie’s scathing harangue, 
and Marion’s manner even of accepting her withdrawal was 
proof in itself of contemptible complicity. Well, since her suc- 
cesses were evidently of such little value, since her many serv- 
ices were held in such slight esteem, they might chose someone 
from the scrub to fill her place I 

Coldly, deliberately, that evening after dinner May wrote 
and mailed her resignation. Then, hanging out a conspicuous 
“Engaged” sign, she flung herself upon the lounge in her room, 
sullen, miserable, refusing to feel or think. 



THE JUNIOR TEAM 


37 


The corridors were full of hurrying feet and gay familiar 
voices. It was Christmas week, and to-morrow was to be 
played the Senior-Junior basket-ball match, the athletic event 
of the mid-winter season. For the rest of the team, however 
the game might turn out, there would be a couple more days of 
bustle and fun followed by the happy freedom of home holi- 
days ; but for May 

What had she done? 

With a stifled exclamation the girl rose, and restlessly cross- 
ing the room flung up the window. 

The storm had ceased. Below her lay the white beauty of 
the campus, immaculate in its spotless blanket of newly-fallen 
snow. The stars above the leafless elms glowed with a golden 
luster. Suddenly through the pervading stillness of the 
frosty night there rose and swelled the high chant of childish 
voices: 

“It came upon the midnight clear, 

That glorious song of old ” 

The Christmas waifs from the village below were singing be- 
neath the college windows. 

“Peace on the earth, good-v/ill to men. 

From Heaven’s all-gracious King; 

The world in solemn stillness day. 

To hear the angels sing. 

May’s hand fluttered to her throat. She stood, palpitating, 
breathless. 

“While shepherds watched their flocks by night. 

All seated on the ground. 

The angel of the Lord came down' 







38 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 





It was her little sister’s favorite carol. The little sister who 
had died, leaving a great aching loneliness that nothing would 
ever fill. 

“All glory be to God on high, 

And to the earth be peace, 

Good-will henceforth - ” 

Oh, if only she had not written that wretched, wretched let- 
ter! How contemptible now seemed her trivial jealousies and 
ambitions! How sordid her miserable revenge! 

“O little town of Bethlehem!” rang the clear childish voices, 
and the tender beauty of the pathetic words smote on May’s 
melted mood. Was it indeed too late? Could the Christmas 
message of love and peace bring her no comfort, no help? 

“How silently, how silently. 

The wondrous gift is given! 

So God imparts to human hearts 
The blessings of His heaven. 

No ear may hear His coming. 

Yet in this world of sin, 

Where meek souls will receive Him still. 

The dear Christ enters in.” 

May on her knees wept silently as the retreating voices of 
the children faded and died along the campus. 

The next morning Marion Constable wakened to a heavy un- 
defined weight of responsibility. What was it? Had she 
flunked her old English? Had anybody cheated? Then, re- 
membering, the captain of the Junior basket-ball team sprang 
out of bed, and began to dress with troubled haste. A moment 



// 


A 


THE JUNIOR TEAM 

later there was a knock at the door, and Sallie Taft entered the 
room. 

“Have you heard from her?” she asked anxiously. “Has the 
mail come?” 

“I don’t know,” Marion answered, and passed out to her 
study, returning instantly with a sheaf of letters, through 
which she glanced. 

“Yes,” she said. “It is here. Sallie, what are we going to 
do? I could never have imagined ” 

At that instant the door was flung unceremoniously back and 
May Baldwin, white and set about the lips, entered the room 
with extended hand. 

“Marion,” she whispered, “you haven’t opened it! Give it 
to me again. I was mad, inexcusable ” 

With a hot flush Marion handed back the note. 

For a moment there hung an uncertain silence. 

“Come and take breakfast with me, you two,” cried Sallie 
Taft at last, a queer catch in her throat making her voice sound 
like that of a husky boy. “We want to celebrate our victory 
in advance.” 

And a victory it was, sure enough, such as set the college 
precincts ringing with the shrill songs and shouts of a trium- 
phant Junior class. But perhaps the most enlightened criti- 
cism may be gleaned from a trenchant remark of the little fluf- i 
fy-haired Freshman to nobody in particular, and Miss Fuchs’ 
equally pertinent comment to her skating friend. 

Quote the former: “What has happened to May Baldwin, 








40 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



I’d like to know? I was never so disappointed in any one in 
my life.” 

Whereas the latter a little further along the line was observ- 
ing: “Oh, no; you can gather no idea of what I meant the 
other day from this afternoon’s play. Listen to the cheering 
even, and the lack of personal appellation. How it has come 
about I have no notion, but the Junior team has found itself at 
last.” 






WHAT THE HOLIDAYS BROUGHT SID. 

By FRANK H. SWEET. WAYNESBORO, VA. 


s 


and. 


ID BENTLEY was hungry, and he had just stepped 
into the bushes by the roadside to gather up a handful 
of acorns when there was a whir of carriage wheels. 


“Oh, Willie ! Willie !” in a merry, girlish voice, “there’s some 
on that branch almost over the horse’s head. Stop quick, and 
maybe I can reach it from the seat,” and a light carriage sud- 
denly swung in under the tips of the very liveoak under which 
he was standing. 

“Now hold the horse steady,” the girl went on, as she stepped 
lightly upon the seat and caught a branch with one hand, and 
with the other began to strip off some little clusters of green 
and white. “There! two — three — four — that’s all. And, oh 
dear!” still holding the branch and gazing wistfully into the 
top of the tree, “just look at those magnificent bunches up 
yonder. If only I were a boy who could climb !” 

i 

Sid stepped promptly from the bushes. 

“I can climb,” he said rather diffidently, but with a smile. 

The girls looked at him for a moment without answering, 
then they smiled frankly in return. Though coarse, the boy’s 
clothing was neat and whole, and he was nice looking, with 
straightforward gray eyes. Even his heightened color, so long 
as his gaze did not shift or fall, did not detract from his ap- 
pearance. 









42 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 





Jm 

■-' i (^'&. ’/ > 

% 



“You mean you can climb that tree?” incredulously. 

Sid’s eyes measured the big trunk, and then went up the 
long tapering branches, some larger than his body and with 
scarcely a branch, 

“Yes,” he answered positively. “I’ve climbed harder trees 
than that after hawks’ nests. You want me to throw down a 
lot of those funny green bunches that are growing on the oak 
branches I suppose. What are they?” 

The girls regarded him curiously. 

“Mistletoe,” answered the one who was still standing upon 
the seat grasping a branch, as though that might keep her in 
closer touch with the alluring bunches in the tree top ; “didn’t 
you know? Where are you from, anyway?” 

“Vermont,” good-naturedly. “I’ve read about mistletoe, but 
never knew what it was before.” 

He threw his coat and cap upon the ground, and then, as the 
lower part of the trunk was too large for him to grasp, sprang 
into the air and caught one of the down-bending branches, up 
which he went hand over hand until it was large enough for 
him to throw a leg across and hitch on toward its junction 
with the trunk twenty feet above the ground. The girls watched 
him breathlessly until he reached the trunk, which was now 
small enough for him to grasp with his knees and shin up; 
then the one on the seat let go the branch and slipped down 
beside her companion. 

“We oughtn’t to let him go, Willie,” she said, her face whit- 
ening. “It’s a hundred feet up to those big branches, and it 





WHAT THE HOLIDAYS BROUGHT SID 


43 


would kill him to fall. I never heard of a boy climbing that 
tree before, not even one of our black ones.” 

“But this boy appears to be doing it all right, Alda,” haz- 
arded Willie, looking up at the dizzy height toward which the 
boy was making his way rapidly and sturdily. “He doesn’t 
seem a bit afraid.” 

“No,” anxiously, “I wish he did — enough to come down. I 
never really believed he’d do it, and — and I was thinking more 
about getting the mistletoe than anything else.” She was silent 
for some time, watching Sid as he went up, up, until he was 
almost within reach of the large bunches, in the very top of the 
tree, then, with sudden enthusiasm, “But won’t it be fine to 
have such a nice lot from this tree !” 

Willie laughed. “That’s just like you, Alda,” she com- 
mented. “Scared to death of the boy’s falling, and in the same 
breath sarcastic about other boys not daring to climb the tree. 
You’d be up there yourself if you were a boy. You never do 
get frightened at your own dangers. O— oh, Alda ! Just look !” 

An immense bunch was dropping down through the tree, 
striking against one branch and then another, until finally it 
fell upon the ground with many of its berries gone and some 
of its frail sprigs injured. They saw Sid look down specula- 
tively, then draw something from his pocket. “String, of 
course !” ejaculated Willie delightedly. “Catch a boy without 
a pocketful of string. See! I told you sol” 

Another large bunch of mistletoe started down, this time 
lowered carefully and steadily at the end of a string which Sid 









44 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 





-y 

f" '4 ^ .;a V . 




allowed to slip rapidly through his fingers. When it reached 
the ground Alda was there to untie it so the string could be 
drawn back for another bunch. An hour later Sid came down. 

“Got all you want?” he asked with a grin, as he glanced at 
the closely packed carriage. 

“Yes,” Willie answered. “We’ve put in every bunch the 
carriage will hold, and now Alda will take her arms full while 
I lead the horse. We live only a quarter of a mile away, behind 
those big trees yonder. You see,” she explained, “the mistle- 
toe on this oak has larger and finer berries than any in all the 
country round, but no one will climb the tree. They say they 
can’t, it’s so dangerous. Papa sent some of the negro boys 
into the wood this morning after mistletoe and holly, but they 
won’t find any such berries as these. So Alda and I came down 
to get a few pieces for the hall chandelier, on account of its 
being so conspicuous. We live mostly in the hall, it’s so large, 
and all our Christmas games and amusements will be there. 
Let’s see,” wrinkling her forehead in calculation, “there’ll be 
fifteen — sixteen — eighteen boys and girls to spend two days of 
Christmas with us; then we’ll go and visit the rest of Christ- 
mas with some of them.” 

“Two days, and the rest?” looking at her curiously. “Why, 
Christmas isn’t but one day.” 

“Christmas holidays, I mean,” impatiently; “that’s a week. 
Don’t you know? Don’t you keep Christmas at your home?” 

“Not so much as Thanksgiving,” Sid answered; “and never 
more than one day. What do you keep a week for?” 



WHAT THE HOLIDAYS BROUGHT SID 


45 


“Oh, I don’t know,” vaguely ; “only it’s the custom and the 
right way. And it’s lots of fun. All the neighborhood comes 
to visit us, and we go to visit them, and we have games and 
candy and everything in the world to eat, and in the evenings 
the negroes come up from the quarters and sing and play on 
their banjos for us, and we give all of them presents, and — and 
then we go to one of the neighbors and do it all over again, 
and then to another neighbor, and then another, until the holi- 
days are over. But you’ll be able to see it all for yourself. Now 
go and pick up that biggest bunch of mistletoe there. It’s too 
heavy for Alda to carry. And all the little ones, too. We don’t 
want to leave a single piece. It’s too pretty. And, oh yes, 
who are your friends round here — the people you are coming to 
visit, I mean? Maybe we know them?” 

“I don’t think you do,” replied Sid, “for I haven’t any. I’m 
— ^just looking round.” 

“I’m sorry,” began Willie, changing it quickly to “no, I mean 
I’m glad. Now you can spend the holidays with us. You’ll be 
right handy to help put up the mistletoe and holly, you’re so 
strong and willing ; and you can help arrange the stage and cur- 
tain for pantomimes. The negro boys are so clumsy. And 
yes,” looking at him speculatively, “I wouldn’t wonder if you 
could help us in some of the parts. You’re not very bashful, 
and you’re not bigoty. Most boys are one or the other when 
they try to act in pieces. Now look out and don’t shake off 
any of these berries,” warningly. “I’ll lead the horse.” 

But Sid stepped resolutely past her to the horse’s head. 





ymii 




46 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG , 





'V“ ^ V" 

f? '**» . ■/ > 



“You and Miss Alda divide her mistletoe between you,” he 
said authoritatively. “I’ll carry the rest and lead the horse. 
I can do it all right by putting the bridle over my arm. And 
as for that invitation, I’m just as much obliged as though I 
could accept it. But you see I’m not any of your folks, and 
have no claim, and of course I couldn’t make a visit like that. 
And besides, you’re — you’re — ” 

“Too young to give such an invitation?” Anticipated Willie 
mischievously. 

“Well, yes,” desperately. “Your folk would think it pretty 
funny.” 

Both girls laughed. 

“I reckon you don’t know our folks,” Alda declared. “Down 
here a stranger is the guest of any house he happens to stop 
at, especially during the holidays. But papa will fix that all 
right. Just you wait and see. You won’t have a word to say 
about the matter if he gets after you.” 

And so it was. Sid led the horse around a bend in the road, 
up a slope to the entrance of a roomy Colonial mansion with 
wide, hospitable verandas, helped the girls carry the mistletoe 
into the house, and remained for an hour or two assisting them 
in arranging and hanging it in place; then he turned to say 
good-bye. 

But by this time his presence and something about him had 
become known to the owner, and as the girls were teasingly 
repudiating his attempts at farewell, their father stepped into 
the hall, followed by a black girl. 



WHAT THE HOLIDAYS BROUGHT SID 


47 


“Howdy, young man,” he exclaimed cordially. “Glad to 
welcome you to our home. Dinah here will show you to your 
room, the one over the porch,” to the black girl, “and see there 
is a fire started and hot water for a bath. I know how it is 
after a journey over our dusty roads,” turning again to Sid. 
“My first longing, even before a meal, is for a bath and fresh 
clothes. Of course, you couldn’t bring any baggage with you, 
traveling on foot as you did. It’s the finest way in the world 
to see a country, but one has to go unimpeded. I will have 
Dinah put some of my son’s clothing in the room. He is about 
your size. You need not hurry. Dinner will not be ready un- 
der an hour.” 

He was turning away when Sid put out a detaining hand. 

“I’m much obliged, sir,” he began; “but you don’t under- 
stand. I— I ” 

“Oh, tut ! tut ! boy, I understand you’re not booked as guest 
for any of the neighbors, so of course you’re ours. That’s all 
there is to it. Have you other plans?” 

“N— no, sir.” 

“Then don’t you think of a thing but just good times until 
after New Year. If you feel anxious about anything then, 
come to me and talk it over. I never want a guest to leave my 
house without the sun shining in his face.” 

Something choked in Sid’s throat, and he turned aside hastily 
with a muttered apology. The gentleman seemed to under- 
stand, for he smiled and walked away ; and the girls, noticing 
the moisture in the boy’s eyes, busied themselves ostentatiously 







48 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


X: 





with the mistletoe. Sid hesitated for a moment, then followed 
the black girl upstairs. His father had died three years before, 
and since then he had hired out to earn money to complete his 
schooling, working for one farmer or another. In the three 
years this was the first friendliness that had been shown him. 

The week which followed was such as he had never known 
before, and such as would remain in his memory all the rest of 
his life. He had been on farm horses occasionally, and sup- 
posed that he could ride ; but discovered his mistake in the wild 
skurries he took with the accomplished young riders of the 
South, where the girls seemed in every way as enthusiastic and 
reckless as the boys. He joined in games he had never heard 
of before, took part in the plays on the stage, spent evenings at 
the quarters listening to the weird tales and music of the 
negroes, visited with the family at this neighbor and that, went 
possum and fox hunting, and even carried the left hind foot of 
a rabbit in his pocket at the earnest entreaty of a negro boy he 
had made friends with, and through it all met with such genu- 
ine, unchanging cordiality that often when he went up to his 
room at night the choking sensation again returned to his 
throat and the dimness to his eyes. When it was over, the day 
after the New Year, he went to his host. 

“I won’t try to thank you, sir,” he said, with a slight break 
in his voice. “I can’t. Sometime, when I’m older and have 
done things, and know how to say all I feel, I want to come 
back and tell you what this week has been to me. I — ^1 can’t 
now. I will just say good-bye.” 





WHAT THE HOLIDAYS BROUGHT SID 


49 


“But you must let me know where you are going and what 
you expect to do,” said his host kindly. “I have grown to like 
you very much during the week. You have the qualities I 
admire in a boy. Isn’t there some way in which I can assist 
you, money, or ” 

“No, no,” hastily. “I’m strong and able to work.” 

“At least you might tell me your plans. You don’t object to 
that?” 

“Of course not, if you care to know. I’m going back North 
and get work on the farms where I’m known. It was a mis- 
take, my coming down here. But after father died I worked 
pretty hard and — and got sort of lonesome. I didn’t have a 
relative in the world except a brother of my mother, who was 
somewhere in the South, and I thought I would come down 
and see him. I — I don’t think they were very friendly, for 
father never spoke of mother’s people ; but I felt she would be 
pleased, if she could know. I had nothing to go by but an ad- 
dress on a piece of old letter, ‘Thomas Calhoun, Oak Crest, 
Alabama.’ ” 

“Yes,” with the odd note in the voice; “go on.” 

“I found lots of Calhouns,” Sid continued, “and four named 
Thomas. You are one of them. But a postmaster told me 
Alabama hasn’t any Oak Crest. So it must be some other 
State — or maybe Uncle Thomas isn’t even living. The letter 
is dated twenty years ago.” 

The gentleman was standing now, and his hand dropped 
softly on Sid’s shoulder. 



50 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 


^y' - 

Twi^c 


“Yes, he is living, my boy,” he said in a low voice. “I am 
your Uncle Thomas. I thought your name, Sidney Bentley, 
seemed familiar. It belonged to your father. I always thought 
my father treated him and my sister too harshly. But we never 
knew what had become of them. They were very proud. 
And ‘Oak Crest’ is the name of my plantation here, not of a 
town. So the post-office would not know. But I am glad, 
glad, my boy,” his voice tremulous, “that you have found your 
way to us, to your home.” 







THE GOAL THAT WON. 




By EDWARD BRODERICK. 

WO games with Lake Dover’s in New York!” 
The shout rang through the halls of old Chester 
Academy till it was answered by banging doors 
and hurrying feet all over the great building, and the little 
group on the first floor rotunda was swelled to a jostling 
throng of more than a hundred boys. A tall youth in the 
center held up a letter, talking excitedly about it; but only a 
few heard. 

“Two games of what?” inquired a pale, young fellow on the 
outskirts of the crowd. 

“Games of what !” shouted the short, fat youth next to him 
in derision. “Say, fellows, Willie wants to know — ‘Games of 
what?’ If it’s cribbage, he would like to play. Or Old Maid, 
maybe ” 

There was a laugh. The boy called Willie flushed and looked 
fixedly at the joker ; some day he would teach Harry Croton a 
lesson ; some day those boys should know that there was no 
softness of character behind his modest manners, that his 
blood held heat enough though it didn’t make him red-faced. 

“Two hockey games, Townsend. Do you skate?” Robert 
Olden stood at the shoulder of the angered boy. He had low 
tones and there was something quieting about his bigness and 
strength that made Will Townsend think of a great St. Ber- 
nard dog. 




52 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



“Yes, I skate. I am going to try for the team, too,” he said, 
impulsively. “Who’s captain?” 

“I am,” said Olden, a light of pleasure in his eyes as he 
looked over the lithe form of the new boy. “The lake will be 
frozen next week sure and we’ll all be out. I’m glad you’re 
going to try, old man.” 

Will Townsend had been at Chester only two weeks, having 
come just after Thanksgiving. He was passing through the 
trying ordeal that late students, barred in some degree from 
the fraternal feeling of their own class, often have to bear. In 
a dim way he understood and set himself to his task ; he must 
prove himself, must win a place among these three hundred 
boys. He turned away from the chattering crowd and going 
to his little room plunged his hand into his trunk and drew 
forth a pair of hockey shoes, the skates attached. For a long 
time he sat looking at them. They represented first prize in a 
skating race and — now they stood for something else. 

“Here’s my chance to make good,” muttered Townsend. 
“Here’s where we’ll show these Chester boys something in the 
way of skating.” 

Bob Olden turned out a true prophet, for a cold snap came 
early in the next week and the lake was frozen over. Nearly 
all the boys went on, but a large bay was always given over 
to the hockey players. Bob was a forward, one of the surest 
and swiftest Chester had ever seen, and three other players 
— “Bully” Bettison at goal, Terry MacMahon at point, Alf 
Carpenter at cover point — had held places on last year’s team. 


t 


THE GOAL THAT WON 


53 


After two days’ work Bob had the candidates sifted down to 
ten. Perkins, a boy who had played forward on the team of 
a famous school in New York City, was assured of a place. 
There were four other strong workers for the two openings. 

Townsend had impressed the watchful captain from the first 
by his speed and by several brilliant plays. These qualities 
had caught the fancy of the boys who watched from the side- 
lines and they had taken to shouting his name in a way that 
set his heart beating pleasurably. They used his last name 
now. At the old school he had been called Billy ; he liked that 
name. 

“Townsend plays captain of the scrub to-day,’’ announced 
Bob in the fourth day of practise. “Play apposite me, old 
man,’’ he concluded as he rapped his stick on the ice. The 
new boy rather nervously took his position and clashed sticks 
with the best player of the school. By a clever twist he had 
learned the year before he managed to send the puck down to 
Terry at point. 

“Good boy,’’ he heard Bob mutter as he wheeled. Then it 
was that Townsend lost himself. He was a highly strung 
youth, of the nervous temperament that seems to go with 
speed and brilliancy in all the sports. Olden had noted this, 
and it was there that his doubt entered. 

“Townsend is swifter than any of us,’’ he told “Bully” Betti- 
son one night ; “but he is almost sure to lose his head in a big 
game. He’ll do when he gets himself under control, but I 
doubt if we dare trust him this year.” 



54 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



“It’s a pity,” said Bully, “for he’s a wonder at times.” 

It was the idea of testing Townsend’s self-control that Bob 
made him captain of the scrub. 

The boy was glowing with the. flush of having tricked Olden 
as he sped over the ice after the puck. Mac had passed it to 
Perkins, who was rushing it forward. Bob turned and skated 
steadily on Perkins’ right, and when Townsend clashed his 
hockey against Perkins’ the puck sped across to Bob, while 
Perkins, grinning, stepped neatly over the new boy’s stick. 
Then Townsend saw the four forwards rushing abreast upon 
his goal, he left helpless in the enemy’s bounds. Two of his 
forwards had followed him too far and were behind the four 
invaders. It was a bitter lesson on team play, for the goal was 
shot a moment later. 

“That’s a neat little trick of yours at the beginning,” re- 
marked Bob as they stood together again in the center ready 
to strike off. “Now let’s see if ” 

The hockeys clashed sharply. Again the clever twist of 
Townsend’s worked and Bob turned and skated grimly after 
the puck, which sped again to MacMahon. It was a com- 
paratively little thing, for the first strike counts for nothing 
generally, but Olden wondered just what sort of a twist that 
was the new boy had. 

This time Townsend was wary; he held his forwards in 
check, too, and they met the clever invasion of Bob’s four for- 
wards with something that Olden himself called “a forma- 
tion.” The scrub, that is, covered their field, leaving no weak 




THE GOAL THAT WON 


55 


spot. When Temple clashed with Price on the right and 
Price flicked the puck to Bob in the center Townsend was there 
to fight for it. Bob’s stick found it first, however, and he made 
a dash straight for the goal. Townsend at his side reached far 
forward and by a quick turn that puzzled Bob for hours after- 
ward he lifted the captain’s stick just as he was about to pass 
the puck to Perkins, and cleverly stole it. Wheeling like a 
flash, Billy Townsend made down the clear field for the 
enemy’s goal. The enemy’s forwards were all behind him, 
skating furiously, but not gaining, and yelling to their men at 
point and goal. 

To pass Mac and Alf Carpenter and to shoot the rubber' 
disc past big old Bully — these .were three difficult feats. But 
Townsend set out to do just that. He knew that the quickest 
way to outwit an opponent is to pass the puck under his stick 
just as he makes his lunge for it. Mac was advancing to meet 
him, holding his hockey before him in his eager, feverish way. 
The new boy flew upon him with speed unchecked, guiding the 
disc before him; just as collision seemed inevitable he tapped 
the puck smartly so that it sped under Mac’s stick; at the 
same instant he swerved and brushed by his opponent and 
before Mac could wheel he had taken up the puck again and 
was bearing down upon ihe goal. 

Alf and Bully stood there waiting close to the posts. The 
boy heard his name shouted from the throng watching the 
game, and the warnings from behind reached him. He needed 
no coaching; his business was clear; he must get that puck 









r 






1 


























' 












56 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



past those two players and between the posts, alone. Though 
his head was hot with triumph it was clear, and he was con- 
sidering the positions of the men he bore down upon when 
suddenly Alf made a dash forward. It was a move that would 
have helped Townsend’s chance but for one thing — he lost his 
head. 

All the cleverness of wrist he had shown during the ten 
seconds past deserted him, and his stick clattered helplessly 
against Alf’s. The rubber was lost and before he knew it was 
being whirled the other way in charge of three forwards skat- 
ing abreast. He stood still and watched them ; how hopelessly 
good was that clever passing of the puck from one to another ! 
That was the team play Olden taught! 

“That was a mighty good run of yours, Billy,” said somo 
one beside him. Turning the boy saw it was Olden himself. 
His nerves were strained and the kind praise added the last 
touch. 

“But I funked it at the end,” he burst out, “I funked it! 
I lost my head! I’m no good — Bob.” His voice broke. 

“Oh, yes, you are good, too,” said Olden in a low tone. 
“And, I say, I want you to come down to my place for the 
Christmas holidays, old man. We’ll talk over things. Don’t 
answer yet. The captain skated away. Townsend looked up 
and saw that a second goal had been scored against his team. 
He played wildly all through the game and the scrub was 
beaten — 12 to o. 

When the boys of Chester saw that Bob Olden had taken 




THE GOAL THAT WON 


57 


up Will Townsend, life suddenly became a pleasanter thing for 
the new boy. He was slow to make friends, being shy and 
sensitive ; the name Billy on Olden’s lips had given him more 
keen pleasure than anything else had since he came to school. 
To pass from Willie with its derisive hint of weakness to 
Billy meant a great deal. The day after his defeat as captain 
of the scrub he agreed to go home with Olden for the holidays, 
his own Southern home being too far for the short vacation. 

On Christmas day Bob spoke to him for the first time about 
the team. 

“I shall want you for some of our games, Billy,” he said; 
“but not for the first ones. It is this series with the Lake 
Dover’s that seems everything to us. For ages we have fought 
those fellows, you know, and it is only at hockey that they 
beat us. For the last five years they’ve carried off the little 
pennant that was set up as a hockey prize six years ago. This 
year we must win it. There are three games. We must have 
one of those New York games and the one on the lake. Our 
other games mean nothing compared to these. 

“I’m going to use Clarke and Weldon as forwards for the 
first game, old man. Not because they’re better than you; 
only they are surer yet. You have not the instinct for team 
work. Most very swift players somehow never do have it.” 

“I understand. Bob,” replied Townsend, though he was bit- 
terly disappointed. “I understand; and you’re right.” 

“Hockey,” Olden went on, kindly ignoring the boy’s feel- 
ing, “is very like chess. There’s a good deal of head work in 




58 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



it. You must move your men in regular attacks and mass 
them in organized defences. Brilliant, speedy work is great, 
but often it breaks our formation and plays the deuce with our 
game. What I want you to do is — get team play into your 
very blood, Billy.” 

Townsend held his bitter chagrin as well as he could. 
Clarke and Weldon took their places and played the first 
games well. The first big game was that with Lake Dover’s 
at the rink in New York City Townsend watched it from a 
bench on the side in his sweater and knickerbockers, ready to 
go on as a substitute. Chester won the game, 5 to 4, and 
went home rejoicing. Bob told him that he must use the same 
players for the second Lake Dover game, which was to be 
played on the lake. At this Townsend’s disappointment 
soured him. He had accepted Bob’s invitation to spend the 
Christmas holidays at the Olden home. A few days before the 
game on the lake he told Bob he could not go, giving as an 
excuse neglected studies he must make up. He allowed a 
coolness to rise and stand between him and the boy he liked 
and admired most of all he had ever known. 

The lake game dashed the high hopes of the Chester boys; 
it was a miserable defeat for their team. Beaten by ii to 2, 
and outclassed at every point by a team that had been much 
strengthened since the New York game the boys realized that 
their chances were not high. 

The hockey team were called into a corner of the gym- 
nasium the next afternoon. 


/ 


I 



THE GOAL THAT WON 


59 


“Boys,” said Bob, and his low, pleasant tones knit them 
closer together in an instant; “we have only one object in life 
just now, that is — beat Lake Dover’s. Two weeks from to- 
morrow the final game comes off at the rink. I’m going to 
make one change in the team: Billy Townsend goes on in 
Clarke’s place. Clarke says himself that we need Townsend’s 
speed against that new Lake Dover man. Red Shirt.” 

Townsend found all the members looked expectantly at him. 

“Why,” he stammered, flushing up ; “why, I’ll do the best I 
can with him, fellows.” 

They slapped him on the back, and they slapped Clarke on 
the back, then they went out and played until dark. They had 
only two weeks left. 

“Feel stage-struck, Billy?” asked Olden as they flashed 
across the ice of the great rink on the night of the final game. 

“No,” said Townsend, curtly. He had been unable to beat 
down the coolness between Bob and himself and the conscious- 
ness that it was all of his making made him feel it the more 
keenly. 

The truth was that he did feel stage-struck and his high- 
strung nerves were giving him a good deal to worry about. 
The hundreds of electric lights, the well-dressed men, women 
and young people who sat all along the sides and leaned over 
the long balconies seemingly criticising his every stride — the 
glitter and oddness of it all were on his nerves, and, for the 
team’s sake, he was afraid. 

Chester’s boys were practising at one end of the rink now. 






) 





60 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



“Bully” was making clever stops at goal. Bob was shooting 
the discs past him at times with even greater cleverness. The 
others met in friendly little clashes. 

The Lake Dover’s lined out of their dressing-room and 
flashed across the ice. Billy looked eagerly at the tall, stoop- 
shouldered player who wore a bright red jersey. There was 
his opponent, the swift Red Shirt. He looked languid, but his 
legs and his arms were long, his wrist strong. 

There were more people crowding into the galleries. Billy 
wondered irritably why so many came. He had forgotten that 
the ice would be thrown open to this crowd as soon as the 
hockey game was ended and that most of them came to skate. 

For two minutes after the game began the teams amused 
themselves exchanging long shots. Each was watching for an 
opening, a weak point. Suddenly two Lake Dover forwards 
charged in after the rubber. MacMahon lifted it over their 
heads in a long drive that carried it to their man at point. 
Townsend, never hearing Bob’s “Hold back, fellows!” lunged 
after it. Of course, he got only half way before the puck was 
sent whirring back to the place where the invading forwards 
waited to fight for it. Townsend felt that everybody in the 
house must be laughing at his folly. He was undeniably rat- 
tled. 

MacMahon, however, got his stick on the rubber and sent it 
back, luckily to where Townsend stood. The youth gathered 
himself together and made a short dash with the puck before 
him. 


/ 


THE GOAL THAT WON 


61 


Two players, Kennedy, Lake Dover’s cover point, and Red 
Shirt, stopped him. He lost the disc; Red Shirt nursed it in 
the crock of his stick and making a detour started out on his 
first sensational run of the evening. Billy followed him madly, 
admiring the skill with which the lanky skater passed around 
his opponents yet never lost a stroke. Far up toward his own 
goal posts he came near enough to run his stick under that of 
Red Shirt. He did it, twisted the stick upward — and fell back. 
He had failed. Red Shirt’s wrist was too strong or his own 
cunning was gone. Just then the puck glided straight across 
the ice in to the captain of Lake Dover’s team, who was di- 
rectly in front of Chester’s goal. There was a sharp battle, 
suddenly the rubber shot forth. Bully jumped and the net be- 
hind him vibrated. Lake Dover’s had won the first goal. 

In much the same manner they shot three more. Red Shirt’s 
wonderful runs somewhat unnerved all the Chester boys except 
Bob and old Bully, who stopped many a well-aimed drive. 
Bob carried his four forwards down the field in his masterful 
fashion several times and shot two goals himself. The ref- 
eree’s whistle broke in when the score stood so — 4 to 2. 

The players moved to the side lines for the rest between the 
halves. Bob and Bully skated arm in arm about the ring. 

“Bully, it isn’t lost yet, you know,’’ said Bob. 

“Only one thing can pull us out,’’ said the stocky goal 
der, “and that’s for Townsend to get his nerve and do 
speedy work. That Red Shirt’s beating us.’’ 

Suddenly Bob stopped and called to a youth on the side 




a. 



62 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



Drawing the boy aside he said: “Reddy, you just get all 
ycur rooters together here and give us one good yell when we 
begin the second. Then watch the play. As soon as Town- 
send does anything good give a ripping yell of ‘Billy, Billy, 
Billy — Townsend.’ I think he likes that name — see?’’ 

Townsend resumed play with a determination to conquer 
himself, and to play tricks with Red Shirt. If he could beat 
that one player Bob and the others could beat the team. He 
began by holding back, refusing to follow the puck into Lake 
Dover’s territory. His reward came soon, for Red Shirt started 
a run with Billy before instead of behind him. They were both 
going fast when they met ; Billy made a feint, recovered in time 
to stop the puck which was sliding past his foot and set in on a 
run of his own. There was a great racket everywhere, he felt. 
The first trick turned against Red Shirt had set the rink on 
tip toes. Carefully he guided the precious disc; skillfully he 
dodged and whirled. He heard Bob calling to him. He had 
come close to the enemy’s goal; Bob skated down the center, 
he was on the left. Why should he let Bob shoot this goal? 
It would be a glorious thing to do it all alone. They were 
shouting all over the rink. Bob stood a better chance of mak- 
ing the goal from his central position. Suddenly the boy’s lips 
tightened, and by a deft turn he sent the rubber straight to 
Bob. A second later the goal was shot. 

“Billy, Billy, Billy— Townsend !’’ 

So that’s what they were shouting ! Billy smiled and waved 
his stick. He felt sure of himself now. 


/ 


THE GOAL THAT WON 


63 


“Bully,” said Bob, skating past his goal, “we’ve found our- 
selves; we’ve got this game.” 

Every minute was full of sharp fighting after that. Three 
times in fifteen minutes was Red Shirt balked on his runs by 
Billy, but no goals were shot. At last Chester got one by 
clever team work. This tied the score. Red Shirt got past 
Billy, and after a brilliant dash scored the next goal himself. 
The Chester hopes fell, but raised again when Bob put through 
another goal. Tied again! The boys on the side called out: 
“Three minutes to play!” 

Billy had followed the puck down into the enemy’s field 
when suddenly it was whisked forward and to the right, and 
turning he saw the trick. Red Shirt waited it there, caught it, 
and set out for a run. Billy groaned, but bent far over the ice 
and skated as never before. The red wizard passed Weldon 
easily, he dodged MacMahon, but lost ground and Billy was 
close behind him before he suspected. Billy slipped his stick 
under that other’s stick. He must turn it now! 

A sharp twist, a cry, and he was away for the left side of the 
rink, now clear of players. In the crook of his hockey he 
nursed the puck and the cheering was music to his ears. He 
made the run, nearly three-quarters of the field, with only one 
man to dodge. Then he looked about for his forwards to pass 
the puck to one in the center. The players were so massed 
there that a glance showed him no goal could be shot from that 
point. 

He heard Bob’s voice, “Shoot it, Billy.” It was a long shot 







K 































' 


_J 








64 


CHRISTMAS IN STORY 



and he was far to one side. There were only the two men at 
goal between, however. He lifted the disc and sent it flying, 
knee high, at the goal. 

There was a shout of triumph from Chester’s men. The 
winning goal had landed. Before the puck was brought to 
center the referee blew his whistle. 

As soon as Billy could shake off the fellows who kept slap- 
ping his back and shouting in his ears he caught Bob’s arm. 

“I’m going down with you for Christmas, after all. Bob,’’ he 
said. 


» 





Pealingy pealingy to-day are the BellSy 
Christmas Bells y Christmas Bells. 

- Pealing the beautiful story of oldy 
The sweetest story to man ever toldy 
That Bethlehem's manger had sheltered 

A kingy 

On Christmas day in the morning. 



PAGE 

CAROL OF THE BELLS, A - - - - - Victor Renwick 94 
CAROL OF THE NATIVITY. A - - - - Ben J onson 76 

CHRISTMAS CAROL. A Phillips Brooks 82 

CHRISTMAS CAROL. A 74 

CHRISTMAS CAROL, A .... Samuel T. Coleridge 88 

CHRISTMAS CAROL, A Dora Greenwell 83 

CHRISTMAS CAROL. A 77 

CHRISTMAS CAROL ...... Felicia Hemans 80 

CHRISTMAS CAROL. A - - - - Josiah Gilbert Holland 87 

CHRISTMAS CAROL, A - - - - - - Robert Herrick 90 

CHRISTMAS CAROL, A - - - - Henry W. Longfellow 91 

CHRISTMAS CAROL. A Charles Wesley 78 

CHRISTMAS CAROL, A - - - - Dinah Maria Muloch 85 

CHRISTMAS CAROL. A 85 

CHRISTMAS CAROL, A George Wither 73 

CHRISTMAS BELLS. Florence Blair 83 

“ IN EXCELSIS GLORIA • - . - - Bishop Taylor 69 

VIRGIN MOST PURE, A 70 

WELCOME YULE % 






69 



“IN EXCELSIS GLORIA.” 

[Bishop Taylor was of the opinion that the “Gloria in Excelsis,” the 
hymn sung by the angels to the Shepherds at our Lord’s Nativity, was 
the earliest Christmas carol. It is preserved in an old MS. among the 
Harleian collection in the British Museum.] 

W HEN Christ was born of Mary free, 

In Bethlehem in that fair citie, 

Angels sang there with mirth and glee. 

In Excelsis Gloria ! 

Herdsmen beheld these angels bright. 

To them appearing with great light. 

Who said, “God’s Son is born this night,” 

In Excelsis Gloria ! 

This King is come to save mankind. 

As in Scripture truths we find. 

Therefore this song have we in mind. 

In Excelsis Gloria ! 

Then, dear Lord, for Thy great Grace, 

Grant us the bliss to see Thy face, 

That we may sing to Thy solace. 

In Excelsis Gloria ! 


70 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


A VIRGIN MOST PURE. 



[This carol exhibits traces of antiquity, but nothing certain regard- 
ing its history can be learned.] 

A virgin most pure, as the Prophets do tell, 

Hath brought forth a Babe, as it hath befell, 

To be our Redeemer from death, hell, and sin. 

Which by Adam’s transgression hath wrapt us all in. 

Rejoice and be you merry, set sorrow aside, 

Christ Jesus our Saviour was born on this tide. 

In Bethlehem city, in Jewry it was. 

Where Joseph and Mary together did pass. 

And there to be taxed, with many one more. 

For Caesar commanded the same should be so. 

Rejoice, etc. 

But when they had entered the city so fair. 

The number of people so mighty was there. 

That Joseph and Mary, whose substance was small, 

Could get in the city no lodging at all. 

Rejoice, etc. 


71 






72 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 



The King of all Glory to the world being brought, 

Small store of fine linen to wrap him was brought ; 

When Mary had swaddled her young Son so sweet, 

Within an ox manger she laid him to sleep. 

Rejoice, etc. 

Then God sent an Angel from heaven so high. 

To certain poor shepherds in fields where they lie. 

And bid them no longer in sorrow to stay. 

Because that our Saviour was born on this day. 

Rejoice, etc. 

Then presently after, the shepherds did spy 
A number of Angels appear in the sky. 

Who joyfully talked, and sweetly did sing, 

“To God be all Glory, our Heavenly King.” 

Rejoice, etc. 

Three certain Wise Princes, they thought it most meet. 

To lay their rich offerings at our Saviour’s feet; 

Then the shepherds consented, and to Bethlehem did go. 
And when they came thither, they found it was so. 

Rejoice, etc. 


CAROLS 


73 


A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



By GEORGE WITHER. 

As on the night before this happy morn, 

A blessed angel unto shepherds told, 

Where (in a stable) He was poorly born. 

Whom nor the earth, nor heaven of heavens can hold 
Through Bethlem rung 
This news at their return ; 

Yea, angels sung 

That God with us was born ; 

And they made mirth because we should not mourn. 

Their angel-carol sing we, then. 

To God on high all glory be. 

For peace on earth bestoweth He, 

And showeth favor unto men. 

This favor Christ vouchsafed for our sake ; 

To buy us thrones, He in a manger lay; 

Our weakness took, that we His strength might take ; 
And was disrobed that He might us array ; 

Our flesh He wore. 

Our sin to wear away; 

Our curse He bore. 

That we escape it may ; 

And wept for us, that we might sing for aye. 

With angels, therefore, sing again. 

To God on high all glory be ; 

For peace on earth bestoweth He, 

And showeth favor unto men. 


74 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



Whilst shepherds watch’d their flocks by night, 
All seated on the ground, 

The Angel of the Lord came down. 

And glory shone around. 

“Fear not,” said he, for mighty dread 
Had seized their troubled mind, 

“Glad tidings of great joy I bring 
To you and all mankind. 

“To you in David’s town this day 
Is born of David’s line 
A Saviour, which is Christ the Lord ; 

And this shall be the sign — 

“The heavenly Babe you there shall find. 

To human view display’d. 

All meanly wrapped in swaddling bands. 

And in a manger laid.” 

Thus spake the Seraph, and forthwith 
Appeared a heavenly throng 
Of angels praising God, and thus 
Address’d their joyful song: 

“All glory be to God on high. 

And to the earth be peace. 

Good-will henceforth from Heav’n to men. 

Begin and never cease. Hallelujah.” 


75 





76 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 



A CAROL ON THE NATIVITY OF MY 
SAVIOUR. 

BEN JONSON, 1600. 

I sing the birth was born to-night, 

The author both of life and light ; 

The angel so did sound it, 

And like the ravished shepherds said, 

Who saw the light and were afraid, 

Yet searched, and true they found it. 

The Son of God th’ Eternal King, 

That did us all salvation bring. 

And freed the soul from danger ; 

He whom the whole world could not take. 

The Word, which heaven and earth did make. 

Was now laid in a manger. 

The Father’s wisdom willed it so, 

The Son’s obedience knew no No, 

Both wills were in one stature; 

And as that wisdom had decreed. 

The Word was now made Flesh indeed. 

And took on Hirh our nature. 

What comfort by Him do we win. 

Who made Himself the Prince of sin. 

To make us heirs of Glory ! 

To see this babe all innocence, 

A martyr born in our defence : 

Can man forget this story? 


CAROLS 


77 


A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



[This carol, a very old and quaint one, is sometimes known as 
“Christmas Day in the Morning.”] 


I saw three ships come sailing in, 

On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day: 

I saw three ships come sailing in 
On Christmas Day in the morning. 

And who was in those ships all three. 

On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day? 
And who was in those ships all three. 

On Christmas Day in the morning? 

Our Saviour Christ and his ladye. 

On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day; 
Our Saviour Christ and his ladye 
On Christmas Day in the morning. 

Pray whither sailed those ships all three. 
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day? 
Pray whither sailed those ships all three 
On Christmas Day in the morning? 

Oh they sailed into Bethlehem, 

On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day; 
Oh they sailed into Bethlehem, 

On Christmas Day in the morning. 




78 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


And all the bells on Earth shall ring, 
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day ; 
And all the bells on Earth shall ring. 
On Christmas Day in the morning. 


And all the angels in Heaven shall sing 
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day; 
And all the angels in Heaven shall sing, 
On Christmas Day in the morning. 


And all the souls on Earth shall sing. 
On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day; 
And all the souls on Earth shall sing. 
On Christmas Day in the morning. 


Then let us all rejoice amain, 

On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day; 
Then let us all rejoice amain. 

On Christmas Day in the morning. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 


Hark ! the herald Angels sing. 
Glory to the new-born King, 
Peace on earth and mercy mild, 
God and sinner reconcil’d. 

Hark! the herald Angels sing, 
Glory to the new-born King. 


f 


i 


CAROLS 


Joyful all ye nations rise, 

Join the triumph of the skies, 

With the angelic host proclaim, 

Christ is born in Bethlehem. 

Hark ! the herald, etc. 

Christ by highest Heaven ador’d, 
Christ the everlasting Lord ! 

Late in time behold him come. 
Offspring of a Virgin’s womb. 

Hark ! the herald, etc. 

Hail the Heaven-born Prince of Peace 
Hail the Sun of Righteousness! 

Light and life to all he brings. 

Risen with healing in his wings. 

Hark ! the herald, etc. 

Mild he lays his glory by, 

Born that man no more may die. 

Born to raise the sons of earth. 

Born to give them second birth. 

Hark ! the herald, etc. 


80 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 

CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

By FELICIA HEMANS. 

O lovely voices of the sky, 

That hymned the Saviour’s birth ! 

Are ye not singing still on high, 

Ye that sang, “Peace on earth?” 

To us yet speak the strains, 

Wherewith, in days gone by. 

Ye blessed Syrian swains, 

O voices of the sky ! 

O clear and shining light, whose beams 
That hour heaven’s glory shed 
Around the palms, and o’er the streams. 
And on the shepherd’s head ; 

Be near through life and death. 

As in that holiest night 
Of Hope, and Joy, and Faith, 

O clear and shining light ! 

O star which led to Him, whose love 
Brought down man’s ransom free ; 
Where art thou? — ’midst the hosts above. 
May we still gaze on thee? — 

In heaven thou art not set ; 

Thy rays earth might not dim; — 

Send them to guide us yet ! 

O star which led to Him! 







82 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

By PHILLIPS BROOKS. 

The earth has grown old with its burden of care, 

But at Christmas it always is young; 

The heart of the jewel burns lustrous and fair, 

And its soul full of music breaks forth on the air. 

When the song of the angels is sung. 

It is coming, Old Earth, it is coming to-night! 

On the snowflakes which cover thy sod 
The feet of the Christ child fall gentle and white. 

And the voice of the Christ child tells out with delight 
That mankind are the children of God. 

On the sad and the lonely, the wretched and poor, 

That voice of the Christ child shall fall. 

And to every blind wanderer open the door 
Of a hcpe that he dared not to dream of before. 

With a sunshine of welcome for all. 

The feet of the humblest may walk in the field 
Where the feet of the holiest have trod. 

This, this is the marvel to mortals revealed 
When the silvery trumpets of Christmas have pealed 
That mankind are the children of God. 


CAROLS 


A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

By DORA GREENWELL. 

“Good Christians rise, this is the morn 
When Christ the Saviour, He was born, 
All in a stable so lowly. 

At Bethlehem in Galilee. 

Rejoice ! our Saviour, He was born. 

On Christmas Day in the morning.” 

If ye would hear the angels sing, 

“Peace on earth and mercy mild,” 
Think of Him who was once a child. 
On Christmas Day in the morning. 

If ye would hear the angels sing, 
Christians, see ye let each door 
Stand wider than ever it stood before. 
On Christmas Day in the morning. 

Rise and open wide the doer, 

Christians, rise ! the world is wide. 
And many there be that stand outside. 
Yet Christmas comes in the morning. 

If ye would hear the angels sing. 

Rise and spread your Christmas fare, 
’Tis merrier still the more that share. 
On Christmas Day in the morning. 


84 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 

If ye would hear the angels sing, 

Rise, and light your Christmas fires 
And see that ye pile the logs still higher, 
On Christmas Day in the morning. 

Rise and light your Christmas fires, 
Christians, rise! the world is old 
And time is weary and worn with cold. 

Yet Christmas comes in the morning. 

If ye would hear the angels sing. 

Rise and spice your wassail bowl 
With warmth for body and heart and soul. 
On Christmas Day in the morning. 

If ye would hear the angels sing, 

Christians, think on Him who died. 

Think of your Lord, the crucified. 

On Christmas Day in the morning. 

Spice it warm, and spice it strong, 

Christians, rise ! the world is gray. 

And rough is the road, and short is the day. 
Yet Christmas comes in the morning. 


CAROLS 


85 


A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



By DINAH MARIA MULOCK. 


God rest ye, little children, let nothing you affright. 

For Jesus Christ, your Saviour, was born this very night; 
Along the hills of Galilee the white flocks sleeping lay. 

When Christ, the child of Nazareth, was born on Christmas 
Day. 

God rest ye all, good Christians, upon this blessed morn. 

The Lord of all good Christians was of a woman born ; 

Now all your sorrows He doth heal, your sins He takes away; 
For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas Day. 


A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

[The old Saxon word “welkin” is used for heaven, or the sky.] 
Hark ! all around the welkin rings. 

Bright Seraphs hail the morn. 

That ushers in the King of Kings, 

That saw a Saviour born. 


God rest ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay, 

For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas Day; 
The dawn rose red o’er Bethlehem, the stars shone through the 
gray. 

When Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christmas Day. 






86 CHRISTMAS IN SONG 

Chorus. 

Ye people on earth, your voices now raise, 

To Christ our Redeemer, in carols of praise. 

Hallelujah! praise the Lord, hallelujah 

Then shining heralds from on high 
These joyful tidings bear. 

With acclamations down the sky. 

And humble shepherds hear; 

“Glory to God, and peace to men,’’ 

The heavenly choir did sing; 

Let earth repeat the sound again. 

And hail the new-born King. 

This is the day our Lord did choose 
To visit mortal man; 

And from the bands of sin to loose 
All those that trust in him. 



Lord Jesus, let thy kingdom spread 
Through all the earth below; 

Let every land thy wonders read, 

And thy salvation know. 

Hosanna! let all the earth and heaven 
Salute the happy morn; 

To-day the promised child is given. 
And God himself is born. 


CAROLS 


87 


A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 




By JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND. 


There’s a song in the air ! 

There’s a star in the sky ! 

There’s a mother’s deep prayer 
And a baby’s low cry ! 

And the star rains its fire while the Beautiful sing, 
For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king. 

There’s a tumult of joy 
O’er the wonderful birth, 

For the virgin’s sweet boy 
Is the Lord of the earth. 

Ay ! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing. 
For the manger at Bethlehem cradles a king. 

In the light of that star 
Lie the ages impearled; 

And that song from afar 
Has swept over the world. 

Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful sing 
In the homes of the nations that Jesus is King. 

We rejoice in the light. 

And we echo the song 

That comes down through the night 

From the heavenly throng. 

Ay ! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring. 
And we greet in His cradle our Saviour and King. 




88 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

By SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE. 

The shepherds went their hasty way 
And found the lowly stable-shed 
Where the Virgin Mother lay ; 

And now they checked their eager tread, 

For to the Babe that at her bosom clung 
A mother’s song the Virgin Mother sung. 

They told her how a glorious light, 

Streaming from a heavenly throng, 

Around them shone, suspending night. 

While sweeter than a mother’s song 
Blest angels heralded the Saviour’s birth, 

Glory to God on high and peace on earth ! 

Thou mother of the Prince of Peace, 

Poor, simple, and of low estate! 

That strife should vanish, battle cease. 

Oh, why should this thy roul elate? 

Sweet music’s loudest note, the poet’s story — 

Didst thou ne’er love to hear of fame and glory? 

“Then wisely is my soul elate. 

That strife should vanish, battle cease; 

I’m poor and of a low estate. 

The mother of the Prince of Peace. 

Joy rises in me like a summer’s morn : 

Peace, peace on earth ! the Prince of Peace is born !” 



CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

By ROBERT HERRICK. 

What sweeter music can we bring, 
Than a carol, for to sing 
The birth of this our Heavenly King? 
Awake the voice ! awake the string ! 
Heart, ear, and eye, and everything. 
Awake ! the while the active finger 
Runs division with the singer. 

Dark and dull night, fly hence away. 
And give the honor to this day. 

That sees December turned to May. 

If we may ask the reason, say 

The why, and wherefore all things here 

Seem like the spring-time of the year? 

Why does the chilling winter’s morn 
Smile, like a field beset with corn? 

Or smell, like to a mead new shorn, 
Thus, on the sudden? 

Come and see 

The cause, why things thus fragrant be : 
’Tis He is born, whose quickening birth 
Gives life and lustre, public mirth. 

To Heaven and the under Earth. 


CAROLS 


91 



We see Him come, and know Him ours, 
Who with His sunshine and His showers. 
Turns all the patient ground to flowers. 

The Darling of the world is come. 

And fit it is we find a room 
To welcome Him. 

The nobler part 

Of all the house here, is the heart. 

Which we will give Him ; and bequeath 
This holly and this ivy wreath. 

To do Him honor who’s our King, 

And Lord of all this revelling. 


A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 

By HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 

I heard the bells on Christmas Day 
Their old, familiar carols play. 

And wild and sweet 
The words repeat, 

Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 
And thought how, as the day had come. 
The belfries of all Christendom 
Had rolled along 
The unbroken song 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 


92 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 



Till ringing, singing on its way, 

The world revolved from night to day, 

A voice, a chime, 

A chant sublime 

Of peace on earth, good-will to men [ 

Then from each black, accursed mouth 
The cannon thundered in the South, 

And with the sound 
The carols drowned 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men! 

It was as if an earthquake rent 
The hearthstones of a continent. 

And made forlorn 
The households born 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men ! 

And in despair I bowed my head ; 

“There is no peace on earth,” I said ; 

“For hate is strong. 

And mocks the song 
Of peace on earth, good-will to men !” 

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep, 
“God is not dead : nor doth He sleep ! 

The Wrong shall fail. 

The Right prevail. 

With peace on earth, good-will to men I” 


CAROLS 


93 


CHRISTMAS BELLS. 



By FLORENCE BLAIR. 

Pealing, pealing, to-day are the Bells, 
Christmas Bells, Christmas Bells. 
Pealing the beautiful story of old. 

The sweetest story to man ever told. 

That Bethlehem’s manger had sheltered 
A king. 

On Christmas day in the morning. 

Chiming, chiming, to-day are the Bells, 
Christmas Bells, Christmas Bells. 
Chiming the song the Angels sang: 

Peace on earth, good-will to men. 

For “the Shiloh” had come 
To Bethlehem, 

On Christmas day in the morning. 

Ringing, ringing, to-day are the Bells, 
Christmas Bells, Christmas Bells. 
Ringing the birth-song of Jesus the Child, 
Telling the story of God reconciled; 
These are the carols to-day 
Of the Bells, 

On this Christmas morning. 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


A CAROL OF THE BELLS. 

By VICTOR RENWICK. 

Ring, merrily ring, ye Christmas bells, 

From your throats glad anthems send 
In praise of Him, the Promised One, 

Who brought good will and peace to men. 
That blessed story sweetly tell. 

To-day, 

Ye merry Christmas bells. 

Ring, merry bells, sweet Christmas bells. 

Peal out your psalms cf joy to Him, 

“The Prince of Peace,” this Christmas morn 
Our Saviour King in Bethlehem born, 

“The old, old story” sweetly tell. 

To-day, 

Ye merry Christmas bells. 

Ring clear and strong, ye Christmas bells. 
With joyful notes the story send 
To Arctic zone, to tropic clime. 

“The word-made flesh,” oh, love divine ! 

This dear old story sweetly tell. 

To-day, 

Ye merry Christmas bells. 


95 





96 



CHRISTMAS IN SONG 

WELCOME YULE. 

[Yule is the Anglo-Saxon for Christmas.] 

Welcome be thou heavenly King; 
Welcome, born on this morning, 
Welcome, for whom we shall sing 

Welcome Yule. 

Welcome be ye Stephen and John, 
Welcome Innocents every one. 

Welcome Thomas Martyr one. 

Welcome Yule. 

Welcome be ye good New Year, 
Welcome Twelfth day both in fere. 
Welcome Saints loved and dear. 

Welcome Yule. 

Welcome be ye Candlemass, 

Welcome be ye Queen of Bliss, 

Welcome both to more and less. 

Welcome Yule. 

Welcome be ye that are here. 

Welcome all, and make good cheer. 
Welcome all, another year. 

Welcome Yule. 




fj 

•y 





1 




PAGE 

AT CHRISTMAS EVE John J. Piatt 108 

BY THE YULE LOG Annie Isabel Willis 124 

CHRISTMAS Rose Terry Cooke 114 

CHRISTMAS BELLS . - - . . Clara Lee Pauchette 101 

CHRISTMAS EVE ...... May Riley Smith 106 

CHRISTMAS HOLLY. THE Eliza Cook 116 

CHRISTMAS IS COMING .... William S. Lord 104 
DOGS’ CHRISTMAS DINNER. THE - - Kate Tannatt Woods 122 

EARLY CHRISTMAS MORNING - - - Mary B. Peck 113 

JEST ’FORE CHRISTMAS Eugene Field III 

MISTLETOE. THE - • .... Barry Cornwall 120 

OLD-TIME CHRISTMAS BELLS 102 

SANTA’S PRESENT FO’ DE GOOD ... Ben King 125 

UNDER THE MISTLETOE Eliza Cook 118 

WHILE THE CHRISTMAS LOG IS BURNING - Eliza Cook I2I 




t 




CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

By CLARA LEE PAUCHETTE. 

Ring out in joy, O chiming bells, 

For in your melody there dwells 

The music glad of Christmas-tide 
On every hearthstone far and wide, 
And rosy lips with laughter sweet 
The happy songs of life repeat — 

Ring out in joy! 

Ring out in hope, O chiming bells. 

For your clear voice of patience tells 

To waiting hearts whose promise yields 
No golden fruit of harvest-fields. 

Whose garnered grain of toiling hand 
Lies heaped upon a barren land — 

Ring out in hope ! 

Ring out in grief, O chiming bells. 

For in your trembling echo dwells 

To saddened hearts a thought of old, 

A picture framed in memory’s gold, 

A vanished face beneath the snow, 

A dream of life’s sweet long ago — 

Ring out in grief! 






102 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 



Ring out in cheer, O chiming bells, 

For in your peals a promise dwells 

To listening hearts that strive to hear 
The future’s voice of hope and cheer; 
For love and joy will have their birth 
As snowdrops spring from icy earth — 
Ring out in cheer! 

Ring out in peace, O chiming bells. 

For Christmas-tide a message tells 
To eager souls that bravely wait. 

And loyal hearts too strong for fate 
To crush to earth; oh, listen then — 

’Tis “peace on earth, good-will to men” — 
Ring out in peace! 


OLD-TIME CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

Oh ! bells of joy, how sweet they ring. 

Chiming bells, Christmas bells. 

Good news for all once more they bring, 

Happy Christmas bells ; 

Floating in the morning beam. 

Gliding o’er the silent stream. 

Turning sadness into gladness 
With their tuneful chime. 


i 


POEMS 


103 



Hark ! the old-time bells, 

We love the happy greeting of the old-time bells, 

A Saviour’s birth repeating, hear the old-time bells. 
Oh ! joyful tidings, joyful tidings. 

Rolling on, rolling on. 

Happy Christmas bells. 

Oh ! bells of peace from God above. 

Silver bells, Christmas bells, 

Ev’ry tone is full of love. 

Happy Christmas bells; 

Stealing o’er the vales along, 

Waking all the world to song. 

Sweetly ringing, pleasure bringing, 

In their tuneful chime. 

Hark! the old-time bells, 

We love the happy greeting of the old-time bells, 

A Saviour’s birth repeating, hear the old-time bells. 
Oh I joyful tidings, joyful tidings. 

Rolling on, rolling on. 

Happy Christmas bells. 

Oh ! bells of hope to souls oppressed. 

Merry bells, Christmas bells. 

Hear them tell of tranquil rest. 

Happy Christmas bells. 


104 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 



Cheerily they still resound, 
Cheerily we catch the sound, 
Glory in the highest, glory ! 
Oh ! the tuneful chime. 


Hark! the old-time bells. 

We love the happy greeting of the old-time bells, 

A Saviour’s birth repeating, hear the old-time bells. 
Oh ! joyful tidings, joyful tidings. 

Rolling on, rolling on. 

Happy Christmas bells. 


CHRISTMAS IS COMING. 

By WILLIAM S. LORD. 

Christmas is coming ! Oh, my! Oh, my! 

Look out, little man, don’t cry ! Don’t cry ! 

For! Santa Claus loveth a brave little boy. 

And surely remembers all such with a toy 
Or a game or a book 
Or a long candy crook — 

Never mind if your tumble did hurt, don’t cry. 

Christmas is coming and my little lad 

Will forget every troublesome bump he has had; 

It bringeth a balm for each bruise and the smart 
Of the saddest of griefs for the time will depart. 
The joy of the bells 
In each bosom swells 

For the goodness of giving makes every heart glad. 





106 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 





Yes, Christmas is coming. That wonderful day 
The children delight in is not far away. 

Then candies and cookies and wagons and sleds- 
And jumping-jacks, whistles and doll’s little beds 
Are scattered abroad 
And the children applaud 
Each treasure from Santa Claus’ wonderful sleigh. 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 

By MAY RILEY SMITH. 

God bless the little stockings 
All over the land to-night. 

Hung in the choicest corners. 

In the glow of crimson light ! 

The tiny, scarlet stocking, 

With a hole in the heel and toe. 
Worn by wonderful journeys 
The darlings have had to go. 

And Heaven pity the children. 
Wherever their home may be, 
Who wake at the first gray dawning. 
An empty stocking to see. 

Left, in the faith of childhood. 
Hanging against the wall. 

Just where the dazzling glory 
Of Santa’s light will fall! 


POEMS 


107 



Alas! for the lonely mother, 

Whose cradle is empty still, 

With never a shoe nor a stocking 
With dainty toys to fill! 

Who sits in the swarthy twilight 
There, sobbing against the pane. 
And thinks of the little baby 

Whose grave lies out in the rain ! 


Oh, the empty shoes and stockings 
Forever laid aside! 

Oh, the tangled, broken shoe-strings, 
Never more to be tied! 

Oh, the little graves at the mercy 
Of the cold December rain! 

Oh, the feet in the snow-white sandals. 
That never can trip again ! 


But happier they who slumber. 
With marble at foot and head. 
Than the child who had no shelter. 
No raiment, nor food, nor a bed ! 
Then heaven help the living ! 

Children of want and pain. 
Knowing no food nor pasture. 

Out, to-night, in the rain ! 


108 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


AT CHRISTMAS EVK. 


By JOHN J. PIATT. 



I saw the tide of Christmas 
Within the darkness rise ; 

It flow’d in the hearts of the children, 

And leap’d in their loving eyes. 

The windows breathed the splendor 
Of the joyous day at hand ; 

In the rainy streets of the city 
Shone visions of Fairy-land. 

There were ships and cars and houses, 
Built marvelously well ; 

Fruits from the Tropics of Fancy, 

And flowers of Miracle ! 

There were picture-books of enchantment, 
Gems from the wonder-mines; 

The ark with the world’s old family. 

And myriad new designs. 

There were birds and beasts unnumber’d. 
Unnamed by me, I am sure; 

And, wearing many costumes. 

The world in miniature. 

“Many a Tree of Christmas 
Is loaded with joy to-night ; 

Many a bough shall blossom. 

Enchanted, at morning light !” 


1 




•jy.^ 




4^4 


a 




.11: 


■ W 1 

- 

■^X !\\ 



y^3 

■iU] 



u * 

1 ► 

_J^ 

- 





110 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 



I said, and thought of the children, 

In many a dancing home. 

For the Angel of Christmas waiting 
And longing for him to come. 

“They press their joyous faces 
Against the darken’d pane. 

And the lighted world behind them 
They see without in the rain !’’ 

I said, and thought of the children. 
Abroad in the street at night. 

Who know no Angel of Christmas 
By gifts at morning light : 

“They press their saddened faces 
Against the lighted pane 
And the darken’d world behind them 
They feel, without in the rain !’’ 



POEMS 


111 


JEST TORE CHRISTMAS. 


By EUGENE FIELD. 



Father calls me William, sister calls me Will: 

Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill: 

Mighty glad I ain’t a girl — ruther be a boy, 

Without them sashes, curls, an’ things that’s worn by Faunt- 
leroy ! 

Love to chawnk green apples an’ go swimmin’ in the lake 

Hate to take the castor-ile they give for belly-ache! 

’Most all the time, the whole year ’round, there ain’t no flies 
on me, 

But jest ’fore Christmas I’m as good as I kin be ! 

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat ; 

First thing she knows she doesn’t know where she’s at! 

Got a clipper sled, an’ when us kids go out to slide, 

’Long comes the grocery cart, an’ we all hook a ride ! 

But sometimes when the grocery man is worried an’ cross. 

He reaches at us with his whip an’ larrups up his hoss ; 

An’ then I lafT an’ holler : “Oh, ye never teched me !’’ 

But jest ’fore Christmas I’m as good as I kin be ! 

Granmar says she hope that when I git to be a man. 

I’ll be a missionarer like her eldest brother Dan, 

As was et up by the cannibals that lives on Ceylon’s Isle, 
Where every prospeck pleases an’ only man is vile; 




112 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


V 



But granmar she has never been to see a Wild West show, 
Nor read the life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she’d know 
That Buff’lo Bill and cowboys is good enough for me! 

But jest ’fore Christmas I’m as good as I kin be ! 

An’ then old Sport he hangs around as solemn like an’ still. 
His eyes they seem a-sayin’: “What’s the matter. Little Bill?’’ 
The old cat sneaks down off her perch an’ wonders what 
become 

Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum! 
But I’m so perlite and tend so earnestly to biz. 

That mother says to father: “How improved our Willie is!’’ 
But father, havin’ been a boy himself, suspicions me 
When jest ’fore Christmas I’m as good as I kin be !’’ 

For Christmas, with its lots and lots of candy, cakes and toys. 
Was made, they say, for proper kids, an’ not for naughty boys; 
So wash yer face and brush yer hair an’ mind yer p’s and q’s, 
An’ don’t bust out yer pantaloons an’ don’t wear out yer shoes ; 
Say “yessum’’ to the ladies and “yessur’’ to the men. 

An’ when there’s company don’t pass your plate for pie again ; 
But thinkin’ of the things yer’d like to see upon that tree. 

Jest ’fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be! 


POEMS 


113 


EARLY CHRISTMAS MORNING. 


By MARY B. PECK. 



Four little feet pattering on the floor, 

Two tangled curly heads peeping at the door, 

Hear the merry laughter, happy, childish roar, 

Early Christmas morning. 

Two little stockings full of sweets and toys, 
Everything charming for little girls and boys. 

How could they help, then, making such a noise. 

Early Christmas morning? 

Down beside the stockings many gifts were spread, 
Dollies, drums, a cradle and a brand new sled. 
“Haven’t we too many?’’ little Nellie said. 

Early Christmas morning. 

Four little bare feet on the sidewalk cold. 

Two little faces with want and hunger old 
Peeping through the window where those gifts unrolled 
Early Christmas morning. 

“Yes,” says John to Nellie, as he spied the two; 

“We’ve so many presents, tell you what we’ll do. 

I’ll give half of mine away. Now, dear Nell, will you?” 
Early Christmas morning. 

Two little famished ones into the house were called. 
Favors heaped upon them till they stood enthralled. 
Was not this the angel’s song, “Peace, good-will to all!” 
Early Christmas morning? 


r 



114 





.- f'^ 

;^‘' * 



CHRISTMAS IN SONG 

CHRISTMAS. 

By ROSE TERRY COOKE. 

Here comes old Father Christmas, 
With sound of fife and drums; 

With mistletoe about his brows, 

So merrily he comes ! 

His arms are full of all good cheer. 
His face with laughter glows. 

He shines like any household fire 
Amid the cruel snows. 

He is the old folks’ Christmas ; 

He warms their hearts like wine; 

He thaws their winter into spring. 
And makes their faces shine. 

Hurrah for Father Christmas! 

Ring all the merry bells ! 

And bring the grandsires all around 
To hear the tale he tells. 

Here comes the Christmas angel. 

So gentle and so calm : 

As softly as the falling flake's 
He comes with flute and psalm. 

All in a cloud of glory, 

As once upon the plain 

To shepherd-boys in Jewry, 

He brings good news again. 


POEMS 


115 




He is the young folks’ Christmas; 

' He makes their eyes grow bright 
With words of hope and tender thought. 
And visions of delight. 

Hail to the Christmas angel ! 

All peace on earth he brings; 

He gathers all the youths and maids 
Beneath his shining wings. 

Here comes the little Christ-child, 

All innocence and joy. 

And bearing gifts in either hand 
For every girl and boy. 

He tells the tender story 
About the Holy Maid, 

And Jesus in the manger 
Before the oxen laid. 

Like any little winter bird 
He sings his sweetest song-. 

Till all the cherubs in the sky 
To hear his carol throng. 

He is the children’s Christmas; 

They come without a call, 

To gather round the gracious Child, 

Who bringeth joy to all. 

But who shall bring their Christmas 
Who wrestle still with life? 





116 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 



Not grandsires, youths, or little folks, 

But they who wage the strife — 

The fathers and the mothers 

Who fight for homes and bread. 

Who watch and ward the living. 

And bury all the dead? 

Ah ! by their side at Christmas-tide 
The Lord of Christmas stands : 

He smooths the furrows from their brow , 
With strong and tender hands. 

“I take my Christmas gift,” He saith, 
“From thee, tired soul, and he 
Who giveth to My little ones 
Gives also unto Me.” 


THE CHRISTMAS HOLLY. 

By ELIZA COOK. 

The Holly ! the Holly ! oh, twine it with bay — ' 

Come, give the Holly a song; 

For it helps to drive stern Winter away. 

With his garments so sombre and long. 

It peeps through the trees with its berries of red. 
And its leaves of burnished green. 

When the flowers and fruits have long been dead. 
And not even the daisy is seen. 


POEMS 


117 




Then sing to the Holly, the Christmas Holly, 

That hangs over peasant and king : 

While we laugh and carouse ’neath its glittering boughs, 
To the Christmas Holly we’ll sing. 


The gale may whistle, and frost may come. 

To fetter the gurgling rill; 

The woods may be bare, and the warblers dumb — 
But the Holly is beautiful still. 

In the revel and light of princely halls. 

The bright Holly-branch is found ; 

And its shadow falls on the lowliest walls. 

While the brimming horn goes round. 

Then drink to the Holly, etc. 


The ivy lives long, but its home must be 
Where graves and ruins are spread; 
There’s beauty about the cypress tree. 

But it flourishes near the dead : 

The laurel the warrior’s brow may wreathe. 
But it tells of tears and blood. 

I sing the Holly, and who can breathe 
Aught of that that is not good? 

Then sing to the Holly, etc. 





118 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 


By ELIZA COOK. 



Under the Mistletoe, pearly and green, 

Meet the kind lips of the young and the old; 

Under the Mistletoe hearts may be seen 

Glowing as though they had never been cold. 

Under the Mistletoe, peace and good-will 

Mingle the spirits that long have been twain; 

Leaves of the olive-branch twine with it still. 

While breathings of Hope fill the loud carol strain. 

Yet why should this holy and festival mirth 

In the reign of Old Christmas-tide only be found ? 

Hang up Love’s Mistletoe over the earth. 

And let us kiss under it all the year round ! 

Hang up the Mistletoe over the land 

Where the poor dark man is spurned by the white ; 

Hang it wherever Oppression’s strong hand 
Wrings from the Helpless, Humanity’s right. 

Hang it on high where the starving lip sobs. 

And the patrician one turneth in scorn ; 

Let it be met where the purple steel robs 
Child of its father and field of its corn ; 

Hail it with joy in our yule-lighted mirth. 

But let it not fade with the festival sound ; 

Hang up Love’s Mistletoe over the earth. 

And let us kiss under it all the year round ! 


111 > 





120 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


MISTLETOL. 


By BARRY CORNWALL. 



When winter nights grow long, ) 

And winds without blow cold, 

We sit in a ring round the warm wood fire, 

And listen to stories old ! 

And we try to look grave (as maids should be). 

When the men bring in boughs of the laurel-tree. 

O, the laurel, the evergreen tree ! 

The poets have laurels, and why not we? 


How pleasant, when night falls down, 

And hides the wintry sun. 

To see them come in to the blazing fire. 

And know that their work is done ; 

Whilst many bring in, with a laugh or rhyme, 
Green branches of holly for Christmas time. 

O, the holly, the bright green holly ! 

It tells (like a tongue) that the times are jolly! 


Sometimes — (in our grave house 
Observe, this happeneth not) ; 

But at times the evergreen laurel boughs. 

And the holly are all forgot. 

And then — what then ? why, the men laugh low. 
And hang up a branch of — the mistletoe ! 

Oh, brave is the laurel I and brave is the holly. 
But the mistletoe banisheth melancholy ! 

Ah, nobody knows, nor ever shall know. 
What is done under the mistletoe. 



POEMS 


121 


WHILE THE CHRISTMAS LOG IS BURNING. 

By ELIZA COOK. 




Hail to the night when we gather once more 
All the forms we love to meet ; 

When we’ve many a guest that’s dear to our breast ; 
And the household dog at our feet. 

Who would not be in the circle of glee, 

When heart to heart is yearning — 

When joy breathes out in the laughing shout 
While the Christmas log is burning? 

’Tis one of the fairy hours of life, 

When the world seems all of light ; 

For the thought of woe, or the name of a foe 
Ne’er darkens the festive night. 

When bursting mirth rings round the hearth. 

Oh! where is the spirit that’s mourning; 

While merry bells chime with the carol rhyme. 
And the Christmas log is burning? 

Then is the time when the gray, old man 
Leaps back to the days of youth ; 

When brows and eyes bear no disguise. 

But flush and gleam with truth. 

Oh ! then is the time when the soul exults, 

And seems right heavenward turning ; 

When we love and bless the hands we press. 

While the Christmas log is burning. 




122 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


THE DOGS’ CHRISTMAS DINNER 



By KATE TANNATT WOODS. 

The church-bells rang out one Christmas morn 
Merrily on the clear, cold air ; 

They seemed to say, “Our Christ is born: 

Come worship Him here, both young and fair.” 

And by and by, when they slowly tolled, 

A little fairy with golden hair 
Walked up the steps with her grandsire old. 

And paused in a pew near the chancel-stair. 

Her golden locks floated softly down. 

Just kissed by a band of ribbon blue. 

Which held it back, with a knot on the crown. 

And left her bright eyes peeping through. 


“The least of these,” the old priest said; 

And Bessie whispered, “The least of these,” 
While she bowed her light-crowned golden head. 
And whispered “Our Father” on bended knees. 


At last, when the people went their way 
With words of kindly greeting and cheer. 
Little bright-eyed Bess was heard to say, 

“ ’Tis the Christ-child makes us happy here.” 





POEMS 


123 



And again, when the feasters were happy at home, 
And grace had been said for bounty given. 
Little Bess said softly, “The poor have none. 

But Christmas will wait for them up in Heaven.” 

At the feast they missed the thoughtful child ; 

And, searching without and within, they found 
Little Bess on the steps, where she sat and smiled. 
While the dogs of the household gathered round. 

There was Hero the hunter, brave in the chase. 

And Lion the fearless, and poor, ugly Pug, 

And grizzly Towser, fleet in the race. 

And dear little Snip who lived on a rug. 

\ 

From a plate in her lap the little queen gave 
Each doggie a morsel of Christmas cheer. 

While over her head sat pussy-cat Dave, 

Half ready to die with envy and fear. 

All over the steps the holly-sprays fell, 

Even down to the feet of the little queen. 

Who watched her loving subjects well. 

And declared “such a dinner never was seen.” 

They found her there ; and an artist drew 
The pictures at once, dear readers, for you ; 

And little Bess said, “Papa, if you please. 

Aren’t our dear doggies ‘the least of these’?” 





124 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 


BY THE YULE LOG. 



By ANNIE ISABEL WILLIS, 

Rake the fire till the embers blaze — 

Christmas was made for the young and old, 
Light the lamps till within their haze 
The darkness glitters like cloth of gold, 
Shining with brightness beyond the days — 
Christmas was made for the young and old. 

Furtively let the mistletoe droop — 

Christmas was made for the young and old, 
For never was yet a merrier group 

Than that where a laughing lad makes bold 
To kiss a maiden beneath its loop — 

Christmas was made for the young and old. 

Heavily lade the Christmas tree — 

Christmas was made for the young and old. 
With all the delicate things that there be. 
Though frail as a flower by a fairy flung. 
And fleet as the note of childhood’s glee — 
Christmas was made for the old and young. 

Smiles for the living, thoughts for the dead — 
Christmas was made for the* old and young — 
Balm to the heart be the tears unshed. 

Sweeter than language of eye and tongue 
The deeper feeling, unlooked, unsaid — 

Christmas was made for the old and young. 


POEMS 


125 



Kisses be given, songs be sung — 

Christmas was made for the young and old, 
Never since earth on its cycle swung 
Was the beautiful truth entirely told, 

That love is richer than pearls or gold — 
Christmas was made for the old and young. 


SANTA’S PRESENTS FO* DE GOOD. 

By BEN KING. 

[Copyrighted by A. Bell King and reprinted by permission.] 
Listen, chil’un, on I’ll tale yo’ 

What I seed de odder night 
When de snow had so’t o’ cover’d 
All de house-top up in white. 

’Way off yonder in de distance 
’Pear’d es ef I seed a road, 

En I heard de raindeers rassle 
Wid de bigges’ kind o’ load. 

Den I heard ole Santie whistle, 

En I low I heard ’im sing. 

But I know I heard ’is sleigh bells 
Wid a so’t o’ culiah ring. 

Den ’e stopt ’is sled a minute 
En I listen’d well’s I could, 

En ’e sang: “I’m on mah journey. 

But hit’s only fo’ de good.’’ 


126 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 



Den jingle, jingle, jingle, 

I could heah de sleigh bells ring. 
Hit was jingle, jingle, jingle. 

Den I heard ole Santie sing: 

“I am on mah Chris’mus journey, 
En I s’pose hit’s undahstood 
Dat I only ’stribute presents 
Whar de chil’un mighty good. 

“I ride ovah de house-tops 
En I listen to de noise, 

Ef I hear de leastes’ trouble dere 
Twix little girls en boys, 

Ef I heah ’em quarrelin’, cryin’, 

Er see ’em wear a frown, 

I jes’ take out my mem’rand 
En chalk dere number down. 
Den I so’t o’ tech mah raindeers 
En I ride ter ebery house, 

En I linger neah de chimblys 
Whar hit’s quiet as a mouse, 

Kase I like it whar hit’s peaceful. 

W’en I heah ’em go upstairs 
En kneel down by de trundle bed 
En say dere ebenin’ prayers. 


POEMS 


127 



Den I listen, listen, listen, 

Kase yo’ see hit’s undahstood 
Dat I’m leabin’ presents mos’ly 
Whar de chil’un mighty good. 


Hit was jingle, jingle, jingle, 

I could heah de sleigh bells ring, 
Hit was jingle, jingle, jingle, 

Jes’ jingle, jingle, jing. 

“I am on mah Chris’mus journey, 
En I ’low hit’s undahstood 
Dat I’m only leavin’ presents 
Whar de chil’un mighty good.” 


Yo’ kain’t beleebe it, chil’un, 

But hit’s hones’ as de day, 

De monsus load ob presents 
Dat is piled up in dat sleigh. 

Dar was little pony bosses, w’y, 

I gase dar was a million, 

En little sleds, en dolls, en beds, ' 

Dar mus’ a bin a billion ; 

En blocks, en games, en an’mul names, 
En monkey on a stick, 

En ’nuff ob lasses kandy dar 
To make de hull worl’ sick ; 


128 


CHRISTMAS IN SONG 



En little dogs en nanny goats — 
Ef yo’ mus’ heah me talk, 

I saw a little bogie man 
Dat ac’chley could walk. 

En ostriches, en singin’ birds, 
A-standin’ on a wiah; 

En little hose cyart enjines, too, 
Fo’ puttin’ out a fiah. 

En Noah en his an’muls. 

All gwine into de ark ; 

En devil feesh, en scuttle feesh, 

I jes’ want yo’ ter hark 
About a little hoo-doo man 
Dat had a funny tail; 

En den I saw a Jonah man 
A-swallerin’ a whale. 

You nevah can imagine jes’ 
What Santie could o’ had, 

En none at all fo’ chil’un 
Dat is impident en bad; 

But all dat go to school en learn, 
En try ter ach up good 
Will sholy git a present, 

En he wants hit undahstood. 







ART EXHIBITION, 


CHARADES, 


FANTOCCINI. THE 


FORFEITS 


MRS. JARLEY’S WAXWORK SHOW 


PARLOR SERIES 


SHADOW PANTOMIME 


f 





















TOM 


MAGIC MUSIC. 


PARLOR SERIES. 


O NE of the players is sent out of the room, and in 
his absence the other players decide upon some 
task that he must do on his return. He is sum- 
moned by magic music, which may proceed either from 
the piano or from the rattling of fire-tongs, or any articles 
that will produce a variety of sounds varying from very 
loud to pianissimo. For instance, we will suppose the com- 
pany to decide that on his return the player who is outside 
must take a book from the table, and place it in a certain lady’s 
lap. When he first enters the room the music will be almost 
deafening. He walks towards the table and the music be- 
comes softer. Suddenly, changing his mind, he turns round and 
commences to walk in another direction. The music becomes 
loud again, thus telling him that the direction he took on first 
entering the room was the correct one. He turns again towards 
the table, and the music becomes much softer. Looking down 
at the objects on the table, he sees a whistle, a book, a number 
of cards, and an apple. The music is still very soft. He is 


134 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 



expected to take something from the table; but what? He 
picks up the apple. The music becomes louder. The apple is 
replaced, and he picks up the book. The music becomes very 
soft indeed. He is now puzzled as to what he is to do with 
the book. Several of the company stretch out their hands, 
and he places the book in one of them. The music becomes 
deafening, thus telling him that his action was altogether 
wrong. A lady is seated on the sofa. He advances towards 
her, and the music becomes so faint as to be scarcely audible. 
She smiles. He holds the book towards her, and finally places 
it in her lap. The music ceases entirely, and he knows that 
his arduous task is accomplished. The other players go out 
of the room in turn, until each one has had a task given him, or 
the game is changed. 

HISSING AND CLAPPING. 

As many chairs as there are players must be arranged down 
the middle of the room. The ladies then all sit down so that 
each has a vacant chair next her, and the gentlemen retire from 
the room. During their absence the ladies all decide which par- 
ticular gentleman is to occupy the vacant chair next her, and 
the gentlemen are summoned in turn. On entering the room 
the gentleman must walk straight to the chair next the lady 
whom he imagines to have chosen him, and sit down. If he has 
guessed correctly he is loudly clapped by all the ladies present, 
and another gentleman is called in. But if he makes a mistake. 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


135 



HOT AND COLD. 

This game is very similar to “Magic Music,” only, instead of 
learning whether he is right or wrong by the aid of music, the 
player is directed by words; when he is near the object he is 
told that he is warm, hot, burning; as he gets farther and 
farther away from it he is told that he is only lukewarm, then 
cold, icy cold, freezing, etc. 


and sits down on the wrong chair, he is hissed so vehemently 
that he is only too glad to escape from the room. Another 
player is called in, and the process is repeated, until finally all 
the gentlemen have guessed correctly, and all the vacant chairs 
are occupied. 

ANIMALS. 

This is another version of “Blind-man’s Buff.” All the play- 
ers except the blind-man station themselves in different parts 
of the room. The blindfolded player then feels his way round 
the room until he touches somebody. The player who is 
touched must immediately give an imitation of the noise made 
by some animal — a donkey, cat, dog, cow, pig, etc., repeating it 
three times if requested. The blind-man must guess the name 
of his prisoner by the voice. If he is successful, the person 
named becomes blind-man ; if unsuccessful, the blind-man must 
release his prisoner and try again. 


136 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 


KITCHEN UTENSILS. 



All the players except one — the leader of the game — draw 
their chairs into a circle. The leader then gives to each the 
name of some kitchen utensil, or article used in cooking, such 
as saucepan or knife machine. He then goes into the middle of 
the room with a bunched-up handkerchief, which he throws at 
some one, at the same time calling out the name of his or her 
kitchen utensil three times before the astonished player can 
say it once. When played briskly and sharply this game is 
splendid fun. The leader should endeavor to ascertain the 
exact position of some unsuspecting player, and then, standing 
with his back to the player, as if about to throw the handker- 
chief at some one on the opposite side of the circle, twist sud- 
denly round, or throw the handkerchief over his head. The 
player at whom the handkerchief is thrown will, in all proba- 
bility, be so astonished that for a few moments his powers of 
speech and memory will completely desert him. After paying 
a forfeit he must change places with the player in the middle. 


TINKLE TINKLE. 


In this game all the players are blindfolded except one, whom 
it is their object to catch. The unblindfolded player must 
carry with him a little bell which tinkles with every movement 
of his body, thus revealing his whereabouts to the other play- 
ers, who are all making frantic efforts to catch him. 






AND AMUSEMENTS 


137 


STEPS. 



SILENCE. 


The blindfolded player is placed in the middle of the room, 
and the other players all place themselves at various distances 
round him. The blind-man is then told how many steps he 
must take in order to be able to touch a certain player. This 
game does, I know, sound rather simple in writing ; but try it 
and you will find that it is not so easy as you imagine. It will 
also have the effect of making the dullest party lively, because 
the blind-man makes such absurd mistakes as to the direction 
and length of steps that he has to take. 


This is really another way of playing “Blind-man’s Buff,” 
and is, I think, much greater fun. After the player chosen 
for blind-man has been blindfolded, the other players all 
take up positions in different parts of the room, and remain 
perfectly still and silent. The blind-man then gropes his 
way round the room, feeling on chairs and under tables, 
until he succeeds in touching some one. As there is (or 
ought to be) perfect silence in the room, the person caught 
is almost afraid to breathe, lest he reveal his identity. If 
the blind-man guesses correctly, his captive takes his place. 
After each fresh player is blindfolded one minute is allowed, in 
which all the players seek new hiding-places in different parts 
of the room. 


138 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 


A SPOONFUL OF FUN. 



SHADOW BUFF. 


Sometimes, instead of feeling with his hands in order to dis- 
cover who it is that he has caught, the blind-man is given a 
large spoon which he uses as a wand. As in “Silence,” the 
players must all remain perfectly still. Directly he succeeds 
in finding some one, the blindfolded player tries, by deftly 
touching him here and there with the spoon, to discover who 
it is. As it is much easier than anybody who has not tried can 
possibly imagine to discover the identity of a person by spoon- 
touching, it is best for the unblindfolded players to try and dis- 
guise themselves as much as possible. Some might stand on 
tip-toe to make them themselves appear taller, others tie hand- 
kerchiefs round their necks or wrap themselves up in shawls; 
and the boys might remove their tell-tale collars or put on their 
overcoats. 


A splendid game, and one specially suitable for a large party. 
A sheet or white tablecloth is first of all stretched right across 
the room, and on a table behind it is placed a bright lamp. All 
the other lights in the room are then extinguished, and one of 
the players takes a seat upon a low stool midway between the 
lamp and the sheet. The other players endeavor to disguise 
themselves as much as possible, by distorting their features, 
rumpling their hair, wearing wigs, false noses, etc., and pass 

/'i' ft \ 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


139 


one by one behind the player seated on the stool. Their shad- 
ows are thus thrown upon the sheet. The aim of the seated 
player is to guess the identity of the shadows as they pass be- 
fore him; and the aim of the others is to endeavor by every 
means in their power to keep him from recognizing them. As 
may be imagined, the task of the single player is not an easy 
one, the distorted shadows being vastly different from the orig- 
inals as seen before the lights were extinguished. 


THE MANDARINS. 

The players all draw their chairs into a circle, and one of 
them commences the game by saying, “My ship has come home 
from China.” Her next-door neighbor says, “Indeed! and 
what has it brought?” The first player replies, “A fan”; and 
begins to fan herself with her right hand, all the other players 
immediately copying her. The second player then turns to 
the next with the same remark. When asked what her ship 
has brought, she says “Two fans,” and commences to fan 
herself with both hands. On hearing that a ship has brought 
home three fans, the players all nod their heads, keeping their 
hands on the move the whole time. And so on until, by the 
time seven has been reached, hands, heads, arms, legs, feet, 
eyes and mouth are all moving. The fun lies in watching the 
movements of the other players, who in their turn are con- 
vulsed over the absurdity of your own movements. 



140 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 


NUTS IN MAY. 




For this game sides are chosen. A line is then drawn across 
the middle of the room. The players arrange themselves in 
two rows, one on either side of the line, facing one another. 
The game is begun by one row advancing towards the other 
with joined hands, singing; 


“Here we come gathering nuts in May, nuts in May, nuts in 
May, 

Here we come gathering nuts in May, on a cold and frosty 
morning.” 


They then retreat, and the opposite side advances, singing in 
reply : 


“Pray, who will you gather for nuts in May, nuts in May, nuts 
in May? 

Pray who will you gather for nuts in May, on a cold and 
frosty morning?” 


The first row then settles upon some player on the opposite 
side, and again advances, singing; 














“We’ll gather Edie for nuts in May, nuts in May, nuts in May, 

We’ll gather Edie for nuts in May, on a cold and frosty morn- 
• ^ 

mg. 







AND AMUSEMENTS 


141 


The other row then sings: 



“Pray, who will you send to fetch her away, fetch her away, 
fetch her away? 

Pray, who will you send to fetch her away, on a cold and 
frosty morning?” 


After deciding which player they will send, the opposite side 
answer : 

‘‘We’re sending Ernest to fetch her away, fetch her away, fetch 
her away. 

We’re sending Ernest to fetch her away, on a cold and frosty 
morning.” 


Edie must then stand on one side of the line, and Ernest on 
the other, each one trying to pull the other over it. If Ernest 
wins Edie has to join his row, and the singing begins again. If 
Edie succeeds in pulling Ernest over to her side, he must join 
her party. 


THE SERGEANT. 


One player represents the Sergeant, and the others the sol- 
diers, whom he iz supposed to be drilling. When the Sergeant 
says ‘‘Do this,” all the players must imitate him. But when 
he says ‘‘Do that,” they must take no notice. 

If a soldier makes a mistake he has to pay a forfeit, and takes 
the Sergeant’s place. 


142 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 


CATERPILLAR. 



As many chairs as there are players must be arranged in a 
circle in the middle of the room. All the players except one 
seat themselves, the odd player standing in the middle of the 
circle. When all the rest are settled the odd player endeavors 
to sit down on the vacant chair. This the other players try to 
prevent by moving first in one direction and then in another, 
so that at one moment the vacant chair is almost within touch 
of the player, and the next at the opposite side of the circle. If 
the players move from chair to chair quickly it will be some 
time before the odd player is able to secure a seat. But when 
at last success crowns his efforts, he is rewarded by seeing 
either his right or left-hand neighbor take his place. It is 
always best to decide this point beforehand, otherwise a dis- 
cussion might arise. 


THE MULBERRY BUSH. 

This game is played in the same way as “Looby Looby,” 
only different words are used, and the actions are different. 
Joining hands and forming a ring, the players all dance round, 
singing : 


“Here we go round the mulberry bush, the mulberry bush, the 
mulberry bush. 

Here we go round the mulberry bush, 

On a fine and frosty morning.” 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


143 



Then, letting go of hands, they sing: 

“This is the way we wash our clothes, wash our clothes, wash 
our clothes, 

This is the way we wash our clothes, 

On a fine and frosty morning.” 

As they sing they imitate the action of the hands in washing. 
The chorus and dance round is repeated after each verse. The 
other verses are : 

(2) This is the way we iron our clothes. 

(3) This is the way we wash our face. 

(4) This is the way we comb our hair. 

(5) This is the way we go to school. 

(6) This is the way we learn to read. 

(7) This is the way we learn to sew. 

(8) This is the way we come from school. 

The actions of ironing, washing, combing, walking, reading 
and sewing must accompany each verse in the right order. 


THE CONCERTED SNEEZE. 


This can hardly be called a game, but it does very well for 
a stop-gap. The leader tells a third of the company to say 
“Hish” together at a given signal; another third to say “Hash,” 
and the remainder to say “Hosh,” the result being the sound of 
a tremendous sneeze. 


144 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 


MUSICAL FRIGHT. 



For this game a line of chairs, in number one less than there 
are players, must be arranged in a row down the middle of the 
room, so that, although side by side, they face alternately in 
different directions. One player then seats herself at the piano, 
and commences to play a lively tune. The rest form into a line, 
and move round the chairs single file, in time to the music. 
They continue marching until the pianist ceases to play, and 
then all scramble for a seat. As there is one seat short one 
player is bound to be left out. He is called upon for a forfeit, 
and retires from the game. One of the chairs is then taken 
away, and the game continues until all save one are “out,” that 
one being the winner. A clever pianist will often cause much 
fun by ceasing to play when least expected to do so, or by play- 
ing what some unwary player imagines to be final chords. If 
any one sits down before the music has actually stopped he has 
to pay a forfeit. 


THE DONKEY’S TAIL. 


A good-sized donkey without a tail is first of all cut out of 
brown paper and fastened to the wall. The tail is then cut out 
separately, and a hat-pin is stuck through one end. The play- 
ers arrange themselves in a line some little distance from the 
wall, and the fun begins. Each player must, in turn, advance 
with closed eyes towards the donkey, and still keeping his eyes 
tightly shut, fasten the tail in what he believes to be the right 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


145 


position. When, amidst much laughter, he is told to open his 
eyes, he finds that he has very carefully fastened the tail to the 
tip of the donkey’s ear, or on the side of his nose. 

LOOBY LOOBY. 

Another old country game, in which the players all dance 
round in a circle, apparently with no other purpose but that of 
exercising their limbs. In this game all the players must do 
the actions suggested by the rhyme, which is as follows: 

“Here we dance, looby, looby, 

Here we dance, looby, light. 

Here we dance, looby, looby, 

All on a Saturday night.’’ 

Then, letting go of hands, they sing : 

“Put your right hands in. 

Put your right hands out. 

Shake them and shake them a little. 

And turn yourselves about.’’ 

The chorus is then repeated, all running round as before. 
As it would take too long to give each verse separately, I will 
only give the first lines of the remaining four verses : 

(2) Put your left hands in. 

(3) Put your right feet in. 

(4) Put your left feet in. 

(5) Put your noddles in. 





X -V-' 'v 









146 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 



BINGO. 

This is a very old country game. The players all form an 
arch and march round singing: 

“There was a farmer had a dog, 

His name was Bobby Bingo O. 

BINGO, 

BINGO, 

BINGO, 

And Bingo was his name O !” 


At the end of the verse they separate, the girls running off 
in all directions, and the boys trying to catch them. When all 
the girls are caught the boys march round singing the rhyme 
again. At the end of the second verse the boys run away, and 
it is the girls who give chase. When all are captured the boys 
are placed in the center of the circle and the girls run round. 


HOLD FAST! LET GO I 

For this game the company must divide themselves into par- 
ties with four in each group, and one odd player who must 
issue commands and lead the game. Each party of four must 
hold a handkerchief cornerwise, one player at each corner. 
The leader of the game then takes up his position in the middle 
of the room, from which he issues his commands in sharp, 
quick, decisive tones. When he shouts “Let go !” the players 
must all hold tightly on to the handkerchief. And when. 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


147 


almost with the same breath, he calls “Hold fast!” they must 
drop it as if it burnt the tips of their fingers. The fun of the 
game lies in the leader issuing his commands so rapidly one on 
top of the other that the players become bewildered. The play- 
ers who make a mistake retire from the game, until finally only 
one party of four is left. 

NEIGHBORS. 

This is a very lively game, and one specially useful in an 
emergency, for it can be played without preparation of any 
kind. Arrange as many chairs as there are players in the form 
of a circle. When this has been done the party must divide 
into sides, one side being blindfolded and taking possession of 
the chairs in such a way that each has a vacant chair at his 
right hand. The other side must then move silently into the 
middle of the circle, and at a given signal they must all mys- 
teriously and noiselessly seat themselves in the vacant chairs. 
At the word “sing” the unblindfolded players must all start 
singing. A well-known tune may be arranged beforehand, or 
they may all sing anything that happens to them at the time. 
All endeavor to disguise their voices as much as possible. The 
blindfolded players must listen attentively, the object of each 
being to guess correctly who his singing right-hand neighbor 
is. Those whose guesses are correct have their bandages re- 
moved, and change places with their singing neighbors. The 
unsuccessful guessers must try again. One guess only is al- 
lowed each time. 



148 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 


HUNT THE RING. 



This game is very similar to “Hunt the Slipper,” only, in- 
stead of a shoe, either a ring or small key is used. In order to 
prevent it from becoming lost among the clothes of the players 
it is best to thread a long piece of string through it with a knot 
tied at both ends. When the players are all seated, the ring is 
passed from one to the other along this string, the object of 
the odd player being to discover in whose possession it is, and 
to stop it in its progress along the string. This he does by 
carefully studying the expression on the faces of the seated 
players. 


FLY AWAY. 

Another bewildering game. One player, who is seated on a 
stool or low chair, must place the first finger of her right hand 
on her knee. The other players all crowd round her, each one 
placing a finger close to hers. When all are settled the leader 
raises her finger suddenly saying, “Fly away.” If she men- 
tions something (such as a bird, a bat, butterfly, a feather, or a 
kite) that has the power of flying, the others must all raise 
their fingers. But if she mentions something that cannot fly, 
such as a book or a train, no notice must be taken. If a player 
makes a mistake he must pay a forfeit or retire from the game. 
It frequently happens that when one player makes a mistake, 
several others do so at the same time. 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


149 



POST. 

A very exciting game; and one suitable for a large party. 
One of the players, who must be blindfolded, acts as the post- 
man. Another is chosen for postmaster. The rest of the 
players seat themselves round the room (which must be 
cleared of furniture as much as possible). The postmaster 
then gives to each the name of a town. The blind postman is 
now placed in the middle of the room, and the postmaster 
takes the position where he can overlook the players. When 
all are ready he calls out, “A letter has been sent from (nam- 
ing a town represented by one of the players) to (here he gives 
the name of another town).” The two players representing the 
towns mentioned must immediately change places, the object 
of the postman being to either capture one of them or sit down 
in one of the unoccupied chairs before the player has time to 
reach it. The player who is caught, or whose chair the post- 
man has taken, becomes postman in his stead. 


THE MOUSE. 


For this game a mousetrap with a small target on the top, 
a little wooden mouse, and a dart with a sharp steel point at 
one end are required. The mouse is first of all placed in the 
trap with its nose just protruding from one end and his tail 
from the other, and the players are all given the dart in turn. 
The game is for each player to see how many times he can re- 
lease the mouse from the trap. This is done by means of the 


150 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 



dart, which must be thrown or dropped so as to hit the bull’s- 
eye in the center of the target. 

A scoring-sheet is kept; and each player is allowed three 
tries. Every time that he releases the mouse counts three; 
and if he does not succeed in hitting the bull’s-eye in three 
attempts he loses three from the score that he has already 
made. 

The player who first scores twenty wins the game. Ties 
shoot again for conqueror. 


THE SHIP’S ALPHABET. 

A captain is chosen, and the rest of the players all seat them- 
selves in a straight row. The captain then approaches the first 
one and asks abruptly, “The name of the letter?’’ The player 
to whom the question is put must reply before the captain 
counts ten. The first letter given must always be A. All 
questions then put must be answered with a word beginning 
. with A. The player who is next asked the name of the letter 
must answer B, then C, and so on. For example: 

Captain: “The name of the letter?’’ 

First player: “A.” 

Captain: “The name of the ship?’’ 

Second Player: “Alec.” 

Captain: “The name of the captain?” 

Third Player: “Arthur.” 

Captain: “The name of the cargo ?' 

Fourth Player: “Apples.” 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


151 


Captain: “The port she came from?” 

Fifth Player: “Amsterdam.” 

Captain: “The place she is bound for?” 

Sixth Player: “Agra.” 

Captain: “The name of the letter?” 

Seventh Player : “B.” 

And so on. 

The fun of the game lies in the ability and sternness of the 
captain. If he is very sharp he can drive every idea from the 
head of the player whom he is addressing. If he gets no reply 
by the time he has counted ten, he passes on to the next player, 
and the next, until he gets an answer. The answers given 
must be sensible, that is to say, it would not do for a player to 
give “amiability” for the name of the cargo. For every mis- 
take or failure to reply the captain demands a forfeit; but he 
does not collect the forfeits until the end of the game, as so 
much oi the fun depends on the sharpness with which it is 
played. 

THE TOPSY-TURVY CONCERT. 

It is best to make some slight preparation for this game be- 
forehand. The performers, who should be all about the same 
height, must learn by heart some song with a catchy chorus. 
On the night of the performance a sheet must be stretched 
across the room, so that when they are standing behind it only 
the heads of the performers can be seen by the audience. Be- 
fore taking up their positions behind this sheet the performers 



152 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 







\x>> 


place stockings on their arms and boots on their hands. At a 
given signal they all start singing. During the first verse they 
keep their hands and arms carefully hidden, but at the com- 
mencement of the chorus the singers all stoop down so that 
their heads disappear from view, and thrust up their arms and 
wave them about in time to the music, the effect being that of 
a row of people standing on their heads. At the commence- 
ment of the second verse their supposed feet disappear, and 
their faces are seen again ; but each chorus is sung while they 
seem to be standing on their heads. 


FORFEITS. 

A great number of games depend chiefly for their fun on 
the redemption of forfeits. The forfeits are usually redeemed, 
or cried, as it is called, as follows: One of the players, who 
must have some considerable knowledge of forfeits, is blind- 
folded and told to kneel at the feet of one of the other players 
or leader of the game. The leader then holds up each forfeited 
article in turn, saying, “Here’s a thing, and a very pretty thing, 
what is to be done by the owner of this very pretty thing?” 
The player who is kneeling inquires whether the owner is a 
lady or a gentleman, and then declares what the penalty is to 
be. The following selection are amongst the most popular, 
but it is really surprising what a number of people there are 
who, when their forfeits are cried, have not the smallest con- 
ception what they have to do. 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


153 


. I. Kiss your shadow on the wall. 

2. Place three chairs in a row, take off your shoes and jump 
over them. The reader will have in all probability surmised 
that the shoes and not the chairs have to be jumped over. 

3. Leave the room with two legs, and come in with six. 
This seemingly impossible task is absurdly simple. All the 
victim has to do is to go out of the room and return with a 
chair. 

4. Kiss the lady you love best without any one knowing 
anything about it. This forfeit is usually a great favorite with 
the gentlemen of the party. The victim can either take it liter- 
ally or can evade it by kissing each lady in turn, the favorite 
thus being included. 

5. Blow out a candle blindfolded. A lighted candle having 
been placed upon a chair or table, the victim is blindfolded and 
told to step back three paces and turn round twice. He is then 
told to advance three steps and blow out the candle. 

6. Repeat a verse of poetry and count the words. The vic- 
tim is allowed to choose any verse of poetry or favorite nursery 
rhyme that may happen to occur to him, number each word 
thus : 


Jack (i) and (2) Jill (3) went (4) up (5) the (6) hill (7) to 
(8) fetch (9) a (10) pail (ii) of (12) water (13). 

Jack (14) fell (15) down (16) and (17) broke (18) his (19) 
crown (20) and (21) Jill (22) came (23) tumbling (24) 
after (25). 


I 



-V-' '' 




154 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 



7. To guess blindfolded who gives you a spoonful of water. 

8. To guess blindfolded who slaps the palm of your hand. 
In order that this painful operation may be performed upon 
him, the victim must be first of all blindfolded, and must then 
kneel down, placing one of his hands behind his back with the 
palm outwards. One of the players creeps towards him, and 
when the victim least expects it inflicts a hearty slap on the 
exposed palm. 

g. To walk a tight rope. A chair having been placed at the 
opposite side of the room, the victim is given a stick and um- 
brella and told to lean down so that his forehead touches his 
hands. He is then told to close his eyes and turn round rap- 
idly three times, then to open his eyes and walk straight to the 
chair. 

10. To keep on yawning until you can make somebody else 
yawn. 

11. To smile at all the other players in turn. 

12. Bite an apple. The apple is first of all suspended from 
the chandelier to about the height of the victim’s mouth ; he is 
then told to place his hands behind his back and bite a piece 
out of the apple — if he can. 

13. To bite an inch off the poker. All the victim has to do 
is to hold the poker about an inch from his face and make a 
bite at it. 

14. Bow to the prettiest, kneel to the wittiest, and kiss the 
one you love best. 

15. To perform the Egotist. The victim must propose his 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


155 



own health in a flowery speech, and sing the musical honors 
as a solo. 

16. To spell Constantinople. If the victim knows this trick 
his task will be comparatively easy. If not, he will probably 
be a suitable inmate for a lunatic asylum within five minutes. 
Fearing that some trick is about to be practiced upon him, he 
begins slowly and thoughtfuly to spell C-o-n-s-t-a-n-t-i-. 
When he gets as far as “I,” he is suddenly stopped by all the 
other players shouting out “No.” Thinking he has made a 
mistake, he commences again, and as before, directly he 
reaches “I,” the cry of “No” is raised. Unless he is specially 
sharp, his “supposed” mistakes make him feel so nervous that 
he may spell the word twenty times before discovering the 
trick which is being practised upon him. 

17. Laugh in one corner, cry in another, dance in another, 
and sing in another. 

18. Hobson’s choice. One of the players places a cork in 
the fire until one end is burnt black. The victim is then blind- 
folded and asked which part of his face he prefers. Not know- 
ing the trick, he will probably answer his nose or his fore- 
head. The burnt cork is then drawn three times across the 
part of his face mentioned. When this has been done he is 
unblindfolded and led to a looking-glass. 

ig. Draw a clock-face. The victim is blindfolded and is 
given a piece of paper and a pencil and told to draw a circle, 
and to insert the Roman numerals in the order they follow on 
the face of a watch or clock. 


156 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 





20. Stand on one leg until you have counted a million. 

21. Kiss a candlestick. The victim is given a candle, 
which he hands to one of the ladies present, and asking her to 
hold it for a moment, kisses her. 

22. To put one hand where the other cannot touch it. This 
forfeit is performed by grasping the right elbow by the left 
hand. 

23. To sit upon the fire. This is performed by writing “the 
fire” on a slip of paper and sitting on it. 

24. To ask a question that cannot be answered in the nega- 
tive. If the victim has never heard of this trick, he will be 
exceedingly puzzled as to what questions to ask. The mystic 
question is, “What does y-e-s spell? 

25. To kiss a book inside and outside without opening it. 
Having been given a book, the player, if he is acquainted with 
the trick, calmly walks out of the room, kisses the book, comes 
back, and after kissing it again, places it upon the table. 

26. To take one of the other players upstairs and bring him 
down upon a feather. The heaviest person in the room is gen- 
erally selected as the person to be taken upstairs. The appar- 
ent difficulty of bringing him “down upon a feather” is solved 
by bringing him a small feather covered with down. 

27. The three questions. The victim is sent out of the 
room, and during his absence three questions are fixed upon 
by the company to which he must reply “yes” or “no,” without 
in the least knowing what the questions are. 

28. To make your will. The victim is blindfolded and is 

\1 




AND AMUSEMENTS 


157 



asked in succession, “Who will you leave this to, and this, and 
this?” He is, of course, quite ignorant as to the value of the 
gifts he is leaving behind. The first is his heart, the second 
his tongue, and the third a grimace. 

29. To imitate a donkey. 

30. The German band. This forfeit is generally given to 
three or four players. Each one has assigned to him some 
musical instrument, which he must imitate as well as possible 
both in action and sound. 

31. To shake a dime off the forehead. The victim is first 
of all blindfolded. One of the players then wets a dime and 
presses it firmly against the victim’s forehead. He then with- 
draws his thumb, at the same time, but without the victim’s 
knowledge, bringing away the coin. The latter still thinks he 
feels the coin sticking to his forehead, and shakes his head re- 
peatedly, until by the laughter of the other players he guesses 
the trick that is being practised upon him. 

32. To eat a string rabbit fashion. The victim is given a 
yard of string, and told to eat it rabbit fashion, which means 
that he must draw it into his mouth without touching it with 
his hands. 

33. The journey to Rome. The victim goes to each player 
in turn and says, “I am about to start on a journey to Rome. 
Have you anything to send to his Holiness the Pope?” One 
player will perhaps give him a boot, another a clock, a third a 
photo frame, and another a trinket of some sort. All these 
articles the victim must carry out of the room, and afterwards 


158 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 


return them to their respective owners without making a single 
mistake as to whom the articles belong. 



THE ART EXHIBITION. 

One of the most ingenious and novel entertainments ever 
invented, and one that has only become popular within the 
last two or three years, is a “take in” known as “the art ex- 
hibition.” It has been introduced with great success at sev- 
eral charity bazaars. The following examples are taken from 
a catalogue of a collection which proved a great attraction. A 
small charge was made, and the visitors to the exhibition were 
each handed a printed catalogue, containing apparently the 
names of a collection of pictures, each duly numbered and the 
name of the artist appended. A little ingenuity will suggest 
many others of similar sort. 

EXHIBITION OF THE WORKS OF LIVING ARTISTS. 


CATALOGUE. 

PART I 
Works of Art 

1. Horse Fair After Rosa Bonheur 

2. A Brush with a Cutter off Sandy Hook. . Carpenter 

3. Caught in a Squall off Cape Cod Fisher 

4. The Last of Poor Dog Tray Barker 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


159 


5 - 

The Midnight Hour 


6. 

True to the Core 


7 - 

“Spring, Spring, Beautiful Spring!”.. 

, . . . Mayne 

8. 

“Tears, Idle Tears” 


9 - 

The Dripping Well 


10. 

Family Jars 


II. 

Never Too Late to Mend 

. ..S. Tich 

12. 

Past Healing 

... Kobler 

13 - 

The First Sorrow 


14. 

Saved 


15 - 

Lost 


16. 

First Love , 


17 - 

The Death of the Camel 


18. 

His First Cigar 


19. 

A Good Fellow Gone 

M. I. Slade 

20. 

Portraits of Great Americans 

. . . G. 0. P. 


Instead of the expected works of art, the visitor finds him- 
self confronted by a number of shelves on which are a miscel- 
laneous collection of articles, each bearing a numbered ticket. 
In puzzled dismay he turns to his catalogue, and after some 
little time discovers that the numbers attached to the articles 
on view correspond with those on his catalogue. No. i, 
“Horse Fair” (fare), is represented after a realistic fashion by a 
handful of oats and a wisp of hay. No. 2, which he expected 
to find a spirited marine sketch, is in reality only a toothbrush 
lying beside a jack-plane; while the supposed companion pic- 









160 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 



ture, “Caught in a Squall off Cape Cod,” is represented by a red 
herring. No. 4, “The Last of Poor Dog Tray,” is a sausage. No. 
5 is represented by a numbered ticket only, with no object 
attached to it. The exhibitor explains that the “Midnight 
Hour” has not yet arrived, but that any gentleman who likes 
to wait till it does (which will be at twelve o’clock punctually) 
is very welcome to do so. No. 6, “True to the Core,” is a rosy- 
cheeked apple. No. 7 is a coil of watch-spring. No. 8, “Tears, 
Idle Tears,” on which the exhibitor feelingly expatiates as a 
noble example of the imaginative in art, is — an onion! “The 
Dripping Well,” No. g, proves to be of the description more 
usually known as a dripping-pan. “Family Jars,” by Potter, 
is found to consist of a pickle-jar and jam-pot. No. ii, 
“Never Too Late to Mend,” is a boot patched all over; while 
No. 12, “Past Healing,” is its fellow, too far gone to admit of 
like renovation. No. 13, “The First Sorrow,” is a broken doll. 
No. 14, “Saved,” is a pocketbook, containing four cents. The 
next is a vacant space, over which the exhibitor passes with 
the casual remark, “No. 15, as you will observe, is unfortu- 
nately lost.” No. 16, “First Love,” is a piece of toffy. No. 
17, “The Death of the Camel,” is a straw, labelled “The last, ’ 
and the exhibitor explains that this is the identical straw that 
broke the camel’s back. “His First Cigar” is a mild Havana 
of brown paper. “A Good Fellow Gone” is suggested rather 
than represented by an odd glove. No. 20, “Portraits of Great 
Americans,” are represented by a few American postage 
stamps. 

\\ 



AND AMUSEMENTS 


161 


CHARADES. 



Charades can be roughly divided into two kinds — “Extem- 
pore,” or charades that are invented and acted without any pre- 
vious preparation having been made, and what are usually 
known as “Finished charades,” where both words and actions 
have been carefully thought out and prepared beforehand. 

For an “Extempore” performance the company must first of 
all divide into sides ; one side remaining seated while the others 
go out of the room, or disappear behind the scenes. The out- 
side party, or actors, must appoint a leader, or stage manager, 
whose duty it is to decide upon the word to be acted, and to 
arrange the scenes representing the different syllables. In ar- 
ranging the scenes the stage manager should describe to each 
actor the actions he or she will have to do, so that there will 
be no hesitation during the performance. 

For an extempore charade to be a success it should be acted 
in pantomime, that is, by actions only, for, unless the actors 
have had considerable experience, a worded performance is apt 
to be more tedious than amusing. 

If, on the day of your party, you know that charades will be 
played in the evening, you had better collect a few old clothes 
for dressing-up purposes. These should all be placed ready on 
a chair; and it would be as well for very young people to re- 
member that it is best to dress up as little as possible ; a few 
old bonnets, skirts, men’s silk hats, overcoats, umbrellas and a 



162 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 



walking-stick answer all ordinary purposes. Badges, cockades 
and epaulettes can be cut out of brown paper, and fastened on 
to the clothes beforehand. The names of the different scenes 
might also be written on brown paper with white chalk, and 
fastened up in a prominent position, as was done in Shake- 
speare’s day. For instance, if you want a garden scene, you 
might write in chalk “This is a garden,’’ or if the scenery is sup- 
posed to represent the interior of a palace, “This is the Palace 
of Viletta.’’ 

The word chosen may be of either two, three, or four syl- 
lables, but words of two syllables are the easiest to act. It is, 
of course, understood that a charade, whether extempore or fin- 
ished, always represents a word to be guessed, with one scene 
to each syllable, and a final scene representing the whole word. 
The following are good charade words : 


Snow-ball. 

Foot-fall. 

Ear-wig. 

House-top. 

Lamp-post. 

Horsemanship. 

Treason. 

Coal-scuttle. 

Weather-beaten. 


Fireguard. 

Watchcase. 

Looking-glass. 

Fire-fly. 

Typewriter. 

Book-case. 

Wind-fall. 

Bridegroom 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


163 


MRS JARLEY’S WAXWORK SHOW. 


This is an excellent drawing-room entertainment, but one 
that requires some considerable preparation beforehand. The 
dresses required can be either hired from a theatrical costumer 
or can be made at home. 

The following account of the exhibition is borrowed with 
but very little alteration from a catalogue arranged by G. Bart- 
lett, of Concord, Mass. 

CHARACTERS, COSTUMES AND PROPERTIES. 

Mrs. Jarley. — Old black dress, bright shawl, huge bonnet. 

Little Nell. — Calico dress, white apron, hat over her arm. 

John and Peter. — Livery suits. They have a feather duster, 
watchman’s rattle, screwdriver, hammer, nails and oil can. 
The Chinese Giant. — A man or woman with high cheek-bones, 
standing on a high stool, chintz skirt round the waist long 
enough to cover the stool, Chinese over-dress hat, queue, 
and moustache. 

The Mermaid. — Girl with long, light hair; the body of a fish 
made of green cambric reaches to her waist; she holds 
comb and hand-glass. 

The Dwarf. — Boy with red cloak, long white wig, bowl and 
spoon. 

Blue Beard. — Flowing robe of any bright color, turban, loose 
white pantaloons, beard of blue yarn ; he holds a very large 
key in right hand. 






164 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 



The Live Yankee. — A tall, thin man, Yankee suit, bell-crowned 
hat, holds jack-knife in right hand, long stick in left. 

The Cannibal. — Large man, Indian costume, crown of feathers ; 

holds war-club and a piece of a hoop. 

Mother Goose. — Old lady, ruffled cap, black dress, wings made 
of black cambric, which expand as she raises her arms. 
Little Bo-Peep. — Small girl, red skirt, chintz tuck-up over- 
dress, high hat, holds a crook. 

Old King Cole. — Large man, ermine robe, crown, red merry 
face, has pipe in his hand, and bowl and glass in his lap. 
Babes in the Wood. — Very large men, one dressed as boy with 
jacket, the other in dress in style of little girl ; each holds 
a doughnut. 

Little Red Riding Hood. — Small girl, red dress and hood; 
holds small basket in right hand. 

At rise of curtain the characters are discovered in groups, 
or in a semi-circle at the back of stage. John and Peter are 
seated on two stools at left. Little Nell is dusting the figures 
with a long feather brush. Mrs. Jarley stands in front, and 
begins her opening speech, directing her men to bring out each 
single figure as she describes it. The figure is then wound up 
and set working. A sound as of the winding up of a mechani- 
cal instrument can be made easily by a piece of hard wood 
drawn smartly along a notched stick. This must of course be 
done behind the scenes and out of sight of the audience. 

The movements of the figures should be accompanied by 
music. Much amusement can be frequently caused by sup- 




AND AMUSEMENTS 


165 



posed defective working, which causes the figure to stop 
abruptly in the middle of some characteristic action. Should 
such a predicament occur John must immediately slip forward 
and re-wind the figure. 

When all are ready and the curtain raised, Mrs. Jarley de- 
livers her opening speech as follows: 

“Ladies and Gentlemen: — You here behold Mrs. Jarley, one 
of the most remarkable women of the world, who has traveled 
all over the country with her curious collection of waxworks. 
These figures have been gathered, at great expense, from every 
clime and country, and are here shown together for the first 
time. I shall describe each one of them for your benefit, and 
shall order my assistants to bring some of them forward, so as 
you can see them to advantage. After I have given you the 
history of each one of this stupendous collection I shall have 
each one of them wound up, for they are all fitted with clock- 
works inside, and they can thus go through the same motions 
they did when living. In fact, they do their movements so nat- 
urally that many people have supposed them to be alive ; but I 
assure you that they are all made of wood and wax, blockheads 
every one. 

“Without further prelude I shall now introduce to your no- 
tice each one of my figures, beginning, as usual, with the last 
one first.” 



166 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 


THE CHINESE GIANT. 



“This figure is universally allowed to be the tallest figure in 
my collection. He originated in the two provinces of Oolong 
and Shang-high, one province not being long enough to pro- 
duce him. On account of his extreme length it is impossible 
to give any adequate idea of him in one entertainment, con- 
sequently he will be continued in our next. 

“He was the inventor, projector and discoverer of Niagara 
Falls, Bunker Hill Monument and the ‘Balm of a Thousand 
Flour Barrels.’ In fact, everything was originally discovered 
by him or some other of the Chinese. They are a cue-rious 
people, especially those who live in Peek-in. The portrait of 
this person, who was a dignitary among them, may be often 
seen depicted on a blue china plate, standing upon a bridge, 
which leans upon nothing at neither end, intently observing 
two birds which are behind him in the distance. 

“Wind up the Giant.’’ 

Movement. — The giant bows low, then wags his head three 
times and bows as before, and after a dozen motions slowly 
stops. 

THE CELEBRATED BOSTON DWARF. 

“This wonderful child has created some interest in the medi- 
cal and scientific world, from the fact that he was thirteen years 
old when he was born, and kept on growing older and older 
until he died at the somewhat advanced age of two hundred 



AND AMUSEMENTS 


167 


and ninety-seven, in consequence of eating too freely of pies 
and cakes, his favorite food. He measured exactly 2 feet and 
7 inches from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, and 
2 feet and 10 inches from the sole of his foot to the crown of his 
head. Was first discovered 10 miles from any land and 12 
miles from any water, making the enormous total of 91, which 
figure was never before reached by any previous exhibition. 

“Wind up the Dwarf.” 

Movement. — Dwarf eats very stiffly with a large spoon in 
his right hand. He holds a bowl in his left hand, which falls 
on the floor after a moment, and is broken. 

Mrs. J. : “John, get your tools and screw on that dwarf’s 
hand, for it has become so loose that it costs a fortune for the 
crockery he breaks.” 

John screws up the hand, gets a new bowl, and winds up the 
figure again. 

BLUEBEARD. 

“Bring forward Bluebeard. Go and get the key and clasp 
his hand around it.” 

John places a key, 3 feet in length, in the hand. 

“Bluebeard, the well-known philanthropist, the loving father 
and the tender husband. But little is known of the early his- 
tory of this celebrated personage except that his name was Na- 
than Beard, and he kept a seminary for young ladies at Brigh- 
ton, where he endeavored to instil into the female mind those 
qualities in which they are so painfully deficient— curiosity and 



168 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 




love of approbation. Failing, of course, in this, he became so 
blue and low-spirited that he was known by the nickname of 
‘Bluebeard,’ which title he bore until his death, which occurred 
during the latter portion of his life. In his hand he holds the 
instrument which he used throughout his long and successful 
career ; it will be at once recognized by every scholar as the key 
to ‘Colburn’s Arithmetic,’ Part Third. 

“Wind him up and set him back.’’ 

Movement. — Bluebeard lifts the key and bows. 


THE CANNIBAL. 

“Here you behold a curious Cannibal from the Feejee Isl- 
ands, first discovered by Captain Cook, who came very near 
being cooked by him. In that case the worthy Captain would 
never have completed his celebrated voyage around the world. 
This individual was greatly interested in the cause of foreign 
missions, as he received the missionaries gladly and gave them 
a place near his heart. He was finally converted by a very 
tough colporteur who had been brought up in a New York 
boarding-house, and induced to become civilized. One of his 
evidences of a change of life was shown by his statement that 
he had but one wife like the English. ‘What have you done 
with the other twelve which you said you had a month ago?’ 
asked the colporteur. ‘Oh, I have ate them !’ replied the gentle 
savage. This Cannibal was very fond of children, especially 
those of a tender age. He holds in his hand a war-club with 







AND AMUSEMENTS 


169 


which he prepared his daily meals, and a piece of a war-hoop, 
which is an original one.” 

Movement. — When wound up he brandishes his club and 
raises his hoop to his mouth. 

THE LIVE YANKEE. 

“You here behold a specimen of an irrepressible, indomitable 
native Yankee, who has been everywhere, seen everything and 
knows everybody. He has explored the arid jungles of Africa, 
and drawn forth the spotted cobra by his prehensile tail, snow- 
balled the Russian bear on the snowy slopes of Alpine forests 
and sold wooden nutmegs to the unsuspecting innocents of 
Patagonia. He has peddled patent medicines in the desert of 
Sahara, and hung his hat and carved his name on the extreme 
top of the North Pole. The only difficulty I find in describing 
him is that I cannot tell what he cannot do. I will therefore 
set him in motion, as he hates to be quiet.” 

Movement. — When wound up he pushes his hat back on his 
head and begins to whittle. 

MOTHER GOOSE. 

“The immortal poetess, whose songs furnish the first nour- 
ishment and inspiration to our tender minds, and whose words 
of wisdom sustain our feeble footsteps as they totter towards 
the grave. Who can forget her if they would, or would if they 
could? So full of tender grace and poetic imagery, her works 
hush the critic’s tongue, and deprive Envy of her sting. What 



170 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 



gentle admonition to the epicure is conveyed by her stanzas to 
the rapacious hen, and to the glutton who proposed to put on 
the pot after meal-time was over ; what tender reproach in the 
allusion to the elopement of the erring dish with the young 
spoon. What satire can better reach the hard heart of the 
officeholder than the sly hit about ‘the cat’s in the creampot, 
she can’t see’? What can move the impenitent heart more 
strongly than the fate of the hardened sinner who was thrown 
down in such a disgraceful manner because ‘he would not say 
his prayers’? But to such a name as hers my poor words can 
add nothing, so I will wind her up and let her speak for her- 
self.” 

Movement. — When wound, she flaps her wings and hisses. 


LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. 

‘‘Here you behold little Red Riding Hood, a model of grand- 
filial devotion, for she was so fond of her granny that she wan- 
dered through the forest to take the old lady’s luncheon, and 
was eaten by the wolf for so doing, which is a warning to all 
children to be careful how they do much for their grandmoth- 
ers. This personage was an especial favorite with children, 
who love to read about her, and shed tears over her unhappy 
fate, although some of them think that had she been as bright 
and well-read as her dress she would have been too smart to 
have mistaken the wolf for her grandmother, unless she had 
been a very homely old lady, or he had been better looking 
than most wolves.” 


AND AMUSEMENTS 


171 


MRS. JARLEY’S CLOSING SPEECH. 


“You have all gazed with rapture upon my wonderful col- 
lection, and your bewildered senses may now prepare for a 
new sensation, as I am about to wind up all these beautiful 
and lifelike figures at once, so you can see them all work to- 
gether in harmony. 

“John, set all the Waxworks going. 

“I thank you for your attention and attendance, and cordially 
invite you all to come again to-morrow and see ‘Jarley’s far- 
famed Waxworks.’ ’’ 

Movements. — All the figures being wound up at once go 
through their motions in unison until curtain falls. 


THE FANTOCCINI. 

This puppet show may be formed in the following simple 
manner: Take a tall, three-sided clothes-horse and place its 
outer edges against the wall so that it may enclose a square 
space ; then hang curtains or shawls over the horse, leaving no 
part uncovered except a space close to the floor in front; to 
this opening you may, if you think proper, fix a painted pros- 
cenium, to serve as a background to the stage, and to conceal 
your legs while you are engaged in working the puppets ; hav- 
ing done this, lay down a little green-baize carpet on that part 
of the floor which represents the stage, and your puppet-show 
will be complete. 

The puppets may be illuminated by candles placed as foot- 




172 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 



lights on the floor. The spectators should sit as far from the 
show as possible, so that they may not see the threads. 

The performer takes his seat behind the small horse, and 
holding the stick to which the threads are fastened in his left 
hand, he manages the motions of the puppet with the fingers 
of his right hand. When the motions are very complicated the 
showman must attach the stick to a string hanging from a rod 
placed across the top of the show, and employ the fingers of 
both hands in working the figures. With very little practice 
the amateur puppet-man may acquire great proficiency in the 
art of giving lifelike movements to the dolls. 

The reader may dress up his puppets in any fancy costumes, 
but he must endeavor to give each its appropriate action. The 
following characters may, perhaps, be allowed to figure in his 
Fantoccini: 


THE JUGGLER. 


He may be dressed in a fanciful Eastern costume, a string 
is to be attached to the head, and another to each of the hands. 
A gilded ball, having a hole pierced through it, is strung on 
each hand-thread, and to each ball a fine silken thread is at- 
tached. Our illustration shows how the five threads are to be 
attached to the supporting-stick. A little practice will enable 
the showman to work this puppet so dextrously that the spec- 
tators will be fairly puzzled to tell how the rapid tossing and 
catching of the balls is managed. 




AND AMUSEMENTS 


173 


THE HEADLESS MAN. 



This puppet may be dressed according to the reader’s fancy ; 
its head is not fastened to the body, but is strung on a thread 
attached to the neck. When the showman has made the doll 
dance for a short time, he pulls the head from the body by 
means of a thread fastened to it, and the headless puppet con- 
tinues to dance on as if nothing had happened. 


SHADOW PANTOMIME. 

Shadow Pantomime is really a more elaborate development 
of “Shadow Buff.” The stage properties must all be prepared 
beforehand, and the actors themselves be well up in their re- 
spective parts, which should be rehearsed under the direction 
of a capable stage manager. 

If the performance does not take place in one or two rooms 
separated by folding doors, the screen used should be firmly 
tacked on to a large wooden frame. Fine, closely woven sheet- 
ing answers the purpose admirably, but just before the per- 
formance it should be well wetted with a brush or sponge, in 
order to render it more transparent. 

The light must be from a single burner. Of course, where 
practicable, electric light is the best possible, as it not only 
throws an excellent light, but entirely does away with the dan- 
ger of fire. If a lamp is used it is best to have one that is fitted 
with a duplex burner. A low, broad, flat lamp is the best for 


17i 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 



this purpose. It must have a guard placed on the chimney, 
and should be fitted into a strong wooden box, which must be 
specially made for the purpose. The box should have an open- 
ing on one side only (that looking towards the sheet), and on 
the inside a bright tin reflector must be placed just behind the 
light. On the night of the performance, the box must be 
screwed to the floor in order to prevent the actors from kicking 
it over. Young actors cannot be too careful on this point. The 
scenery can easily be constructed at home. It is usually cut 
out of stiff white or brown paper, and pinned firmly to the 
screen from behind. If any member of the company is at all 
artistic, he might sketch the scenery roughly with crayons. 
One of the most effective scenes that I ever saw was done in 
this way; one of the company sketched it roughly on brown 
paper, while another cut it out, and a third pinned it securely 
to the screen; the whole scene (a village street, showing the 
interior of a blacksmith’s forge and a flock of sheep grazing in 
a distant meadow) was sketched, cut out and pasted to the 
sheet in less than half an hour. The furniture will require spe- 
cial treatment ; ordinary furniture looks grotesque and absurd 
in the extreme — thus a dining table when reflected against the 
screen has the appearance of an old-fashioned harmonium. 
Outline is the chief consideration, the material of which the 
furniture is composed, and the workmanship need not be 
studied to any great extent. Any carpenter would be able to 
knock the necessary articles together in a few hours; but he 
must have special instructions as to length and breadth. For 




AND AMUSEMENTS 


175 


instance, if you require a table to appear in shadow like an ordi- 
nary dining table, you must tell him to make it the ordinary 
length, but only about 6 or 8 inches in breadth. In arranging 
the scenery it should be remembered that for the objects to be 
clearly defined they must be placed as near to the sheet as pos- 
sible. This applies not only to inanimate objects, but also to 
the actors themselves. The performance will have to be re- 
hearsed under the direction of a stage manager for several 
weeks beforehand. 

Although the stage manager is often envied by the other 
members of the company, his position is by no means an easy 
one. On his shoulders rests the responsibility of assigning 
the various parts to the players. His decision must be con- 
sidered final; nothing could be in worse taste than for a player 
to grumble at the part given him, or to let it be seen that he 
feels convinced that he could have played some one else’s part 
better. As the actors should only be seen in profile, and as it 
is impossible for an actor to see for himself whether or no his 
shadow is as it ought to be, the stage manager has to watch 
each actor’s every movement. During the time that his profile 
is visible upon the sheet an actor must be careful not to turn 
his head in order to catch sight of the reflection of his features ; 
and if it is necessary for him to turn round, he must do so as 
quickly as possible, so as to bring his features immediately into 
profile from the other side. If two actors have to pass one 
another they must do so as rapidly as possible, otherwise their 
shadows will become confused; they must also be extremely 



176 


CHRISTMAS GAMES 



careful never to stand in front of one another for the same rea- 
son. 

Visitors who have never been behind the scenes during the 
performance of Shadow Pantomime are generally mystified 
by the extraordinary manner in which the characters make 
their entrances and exits ; it is nothing unusual for an actor to 
drop down apparently from the ceiling and after going through 
a series of strange and weird antics, to disappear in the same 
uncanny fashion. In order to explain how this effect is pro- 
duced, it will be necessary to return to the subject of light, 
which can only throw a shadow upon the screen within certain 
limits. So long as an object remains within these limits its 
shadow is reflected upon the sheet, but directly it passes out- 
side them it disappears. Thus, if an actor wishes to make it 
appear that he has apparently dropped down from the skies, he 
has merely to jump over the box containing the lamp. Ar- 
ticles of furniture are also introduced over the light in the same 
way; the mysterious appearance of a chair or table floating 
gently down from the ceiling causing much merriment among 
the audience. All stage properties must be in the charge of 
some member of the company whose duty it will be to see that 
they are kept outside the line of shadow until they are wanted, 
when he introduces them over the light or in some other way 
equally effective and mysterious. Stage properties are gener- 
ally manufactured from pasteboard, which is easily procurable, 
and which can, with the aid of the glue-pot, be transformed 
into animals’ heads, false noses, false ears and other stage 
properties of endless variety. 





/ 


177 

I 



12 



178 




^0V\? \^A 

WONf HI/' KinTgDC^ 




N early four hundred years ago, on May 12, 1496, 
Gustavus Vasa was born in an old house in Swe- 
den. His father was a noble of a well-known 
Swedish family, and his mother could claim as her sister one 
of the bravest and most unfortunate women of her time. Now, 
it was the custom in those days that both boys and girls should 
be sent when very young to the house of some great lord to 
be taught their duties as pages or ladies-in-waiting, and to be 
trained in all sorts of accomplishments. So when Gustavus 
Vasa had reached the age of six or seven, he was taken away 
from all his brothers and sisters and placed in the household of 
his uncle by marriage, whose name was Sten Sture. At that 
time Sweden had had no king of her own for a hundred years, 
when the kingdom had become united with Norway and Den- 
mark in the reign of Queen Margaret by a treaty that is known 
in history as the Union of Calmar (1397). As long as Queen 
Margaret lived the three kingdoms were well-governed and 
happy; but her successors were by no means as wise as she, 
and at the period we are writing of the Danish stewards of 
King Hans and his son, Christian II., oppressed and ill-treated 
the Swedes in every possible way, and Sten Sture, regent 
though he was, had no power to protect them. From time to 
time the Danish kings came over to Sweden to look after their 


180 


HISTORICAL TALES 





own interests, and on one of these visits King Hans saw little 
Gustavus Vasa at the house of Sten Sture in Stockholm. He 
is said to have taken notice of the boy, and to have exclaimed 
grimly that Gustavus would be a great man if he lived ; and the 
Regent, thinking that the less attention the King paid to his 
unwilling subjects the safer their heads would be, at once sent 
the boy back to his father. 

For some years Gustavus lived at home and had a merry 
time, learning to shoot by hitting a mark with his arrows be- 
fore he was allowed any breakfast, and roaming all over the 
woods in his little coat of scarlet cloth. At thirteen he was sent 
for a time to school at Upsala, where he learned music as well 
as other things, and even taught himself to make musical in- 
struments. One day, however, the Danish schoolmaster spoke 
scornfully of tKe Swedes, and Gustavus, dashing the sword 
which he carried through the book before him, vowed ven- 
geance on all Danes, and walked out of the school for good. 

As far as we know, Gustavus probably remained with his 
father for the next few years, and we next hear of him in 1514 
at the Court of Sten Sture the younger. Already he had ob- 
tained a reputation among his friends both for boldness and 
caution, and though so young had learned experience by care- 
fully watching all that was going on around him. His enemies, 
too, even the wicked Archbishop Trolle of Upsala, had begun 
to fear him without knowing exactly why, and he had already 
made a name for himself by his courage at the Swedish victory 
of Brankyrka, when the standard was borne by Gustavus 


GUSTAVUS VASA 


181 



through the thickest of the fight. This battle dashed to the 
^ ground the King’s hopes of getting Sten Sture, the Regent, 
into his power by fair means, so he tried treachery to persuade 
the Swede to enter his ship. But the men of Stockholm saw 
through his wiles and declined this proposal, and the King was 
driven to offer the Swedes a meeting in a church, on condition 
that Gustavus Vasa and five other distinguished nobles should 
be sent first on board as hostages. This v/as agreed to ; but 
no sooner had the young men put off in their boat than a large 
Danish vessel cut off their retreat, and they were at once car- 
ried off to Denmark as prisoners. 

For one moment it seemed likely that Gustavus would be 
hanged, and Sweden remain in slavery for many years longer, 
and indeed, if his life was spared, it was only because Christian 
thought it might be to his own advantage. Still, spared it was, 
and the young man was delivered to the care of a distant rela- 
tion in Jutland, who was to forfeit 400I. in case of his escape. 
Here things were made as pleasant to him as possible, and he 
was allowed to hunt and shoot, though always attended by 
keepers. 

One day, after he had behaved with such prudence that his 
keepers had almost given up watching him, he managed, while 
strolling in the great park, to give them the slip, and to hide 
himself where there was no chance of anyone finding him. He 
contrived somehow tO' get hold of a pilgrim’s dress; then that 
of a cattle-driver, and in this disguise he made his way to the 
free city of Liibeck, and threw himself on the mercy of the 






182 HISTORICAL TALES 

burgomaster or mayor. By this time his enemies were on his 
track, and his noble gaoler, Sir Eric Bauer, claimed him as an 
escaped prisoner. But the people of Liibeck, who at that mo- 
ment had a trade quarrel with Denmark, declared that the fugi- 
tive was not a prisoner who had broken his parole, but a host- 
age who had been carried off by treachery, and refused to give 
him up, though perhaps their own interest had more to do with 
their steadfastness than right and justice. As it was, Gustavus 
was held fast in Liibeck for eight months before they would let 
him go, and it was not until May, 1520, that he crossed the Bal- 
tic in a little fishing-smack, and sailed for Stockholm, then 
besieged by Danish ships and defended by the widow of the 
Regent. But finding the town closely invested, he made for 
Calmar, and after a short stay in the castle he found his way 
into the heart of the country, learning sadly at every step how 
the worst enemies of Sweden were the Swedes themselves, who 
betrayed each other to their Danish foes for jealousy and gold. 
Like Prince Charlie, however, he was soon to find faithful 
hearts among his countrymen, and for every traitor there were 
at least a hundred who were true. While hiding on his father’s 
property, he sent some of his tenants to Stockholm, to find out 
the state of affairs there. The news they brought was terrible. 
A fearful massacre, known in history as the Blood Bath, had 
taken place by order of the King. Citizens, bishops, nobles, 
and even servants had been executed in the public market, and 
the King’s thirst for blood was not satisfied until some hun- 
dreds of Swedes had laid down their lives. Among those who 


GUSTAVUS VASA 


183 



fell on the first day was the father of Gustavus Vasa, who is 
said to have indignantly rejected the pardon offered him by the 
King for his fidelity to his country. “No,” he exclaimed; “let 
me die with all these honest men.” So he died, and his son-in- 
law after him, and his wife, her mother, sister, and three daugh- 
ters were thrown into prison, where some of them were starved 
to death. To crown all, a price was set on the head of Gus- 
tavus. 

On hearing this last news Gustavus resolved to take refuge 
in the province of Dalecarlia, and to trust to the loyalty of the 
peasants. By this time it was the end of November (1520), 
and the snow lay thick upon the ground ; but this was rather in 
his favor, as his enemies would be less likely to pursue him. So 
he cut his hair short and put on the dress of a peasant, which 
in those days consisted of a short, thick jacket, breeches with 
huge buttons, and a low, soft hat. Then he bought an axe 
and plunged into the forest. Here he soon made a friend for 
life in a very tall, strong woodcutter, known to his neighbors 
by the name of the “Bear-slayer.” This woodcutter was em- 
ployed by a rich man, Petersen by name, who had a large prop- 
erty near by, and had been at school with Gustavus Vasa at 
Upsala. But hearing that Danish spies were lurking around, 
Gustavus would not confide even in him, but patiently did what 
work was given him like a common servant. An accident be- 
trayed him. A maid-servant happened one day to see the 
golden collar that Gustavus wore next his skin, and told her 
master. Petersen then recognized his old schoolfellow; but 




184 


HISTORICAL TALES 



knowing that he would lose his own head if he gave him shel- 
ter, he advised the young noble to leave his hiding-place, and 
take shelter with another old friend, Arendt, who had once 
served under him. Here he was received with open arms ; but 
this hospitality only concealed treachery, for his old comrade 
had formed a close friendship with the Danish stewards who 
ruled the land, and only wanted an opportunity to deliver Gus- 
tavus up to them. However, he was careful not to let his guest 
see anything of his plan, and even pretended to share his 
schemes for ridding the country of the enemy. So he hid Gus- 
tavus in an attic, where he assured him he would be perfectly 
safe, and left him, saying he would go round to all the neigh- 
boring estates to enlist soldiers for their cause. But of course 
he was only going to give information about Gustavus, and to 
gain the reward. 

Now, it was only an accident that prevented his treachery 
being successful. The first man he applied to, though a friend 
to the Danes, scorned to take a mean advantage of anyone, and 
told the traitor to go elsewhere. 

Furiously angry, but greedy and determined as ever, the 
traitor set forth for the house of the Danish steward who lived 
nearest, well knowing that from him he would receive nothing 
but gratitude. 

But the traitor’s wife happened to be standing at her own 
door as her husband drove by, and guessed what had occurred 
and where he was going. She was an honest woman, who 
despised all that was base and underhand, so she stole out to 


GUSTAVUS VASA 


185 



one of her servants whom she could trust, and ordered him to 
make ready a sledge, for he would have to go on a journey. 
Then, in order that no one should know of Gustavus’s escape 
until it was too late to overtake him, she let him down out of_ 
the window into the sledge, which drove off at once, across a 
frozen lake and past the copper-mines of Fahlun, to a little vil- 
lage at the far end, where Gustavus left his deliverer, giving 
him a beautiful silver dagger as a parting gift. 

Sheltered by one person after another, and escaping many 
dangers on the way, Gustavus found himself at last in the cot- 
tage of one of the royal foresters, where he received a hos- 
pitable welcome from the man and his wife. But unknown to 
himself, Danish spies had been for some time on his track, and 
no sooner had Gustavus sat down to warm his tired limbs be- 
fore the fire where the forester's wife was baking bread, than 
they entered and inquired if Gustavus Vasa had been seen to 
pass that way. Another moment and they might have become 
curious about the stranger sitting at the hearth, when the 
woman hastily turned round, and struck him on the shoulder 
with the huge spoon she held in her hand. “Lazy loon !” she 
cried. “Have you no work to do? Off with you at once and 
see to your threshing.” The Danes only saw before them a 
common Swedish servant bullied by his mistress, and it never 
entered their heads to ask any questions; so once again Gus- 
tavus was saved. 

Next day the forester hid him under a load of hay, and pre- 
pared to drive him through the forest to the houses of some 


186 


HISTORICAL TALES 




friends — foresters like himself — who lived in a distant village. 
But Gustavus was not to reach even this place without under- 
going a danger different from 'those he had met with before; 
for while they were jogging peacefully along the road they 
came across one of the numerous parties of Danes who were 
forever scouring the country, and on seeing the cart a man 
stepped up, and thrust through the hay with his spear. Gus- 
tavus, though wounded, managed not to cry out, but reached, 
faint with loss of blood, his next resting-place. 

After spending several days hidden among the boughs of a 
fir-tree, till the Danes began to think that their information 
must be false and Gustavus be looked for elsewhere, the fugi- 
tive was guided by one peasant after another through the for- 
ests till he found himself at the head of a large lake, and in the 
centre of many thickly-peopled villages. Here he assembled 
the dwellers in the country round, and spoke to them in the 
churchyard, telling of the wrongs that Sweden had suffered 
and of her children that had been slain. The peasants were 
moved by his words, but they did not wish to plunge into a 
war till they were sure of being successful, so they told Gus- 
tavus that they must find out something more before they took 
arms ; meantime he was driven to seek a fresh hiding-place. 

Gustavus was terribly dejected at the downfall of his hopes, 
for he had thought, with the help of the peasants, to raise at 
once the standard of rebellion ; still he saw that flight was the 
only chance just now, and Norway seemed his best refuge. 
However, some fresh acts of tyranny on the part of their 


GUSTAVUS VASA 


187 



Danish masters did what Gustavus’s own words had failed to 
do, and suddenly the peasants took their resolve and sent for 
Gustavus to be their leader. 

The messengers found him at the foot of the Dovre-Fjeld 
Mountains between Norway and Sweden, and he joyfully re- 
turned with them, rousing the people as he went, till at last he 
had got together a force that far outnumbered the army which 
was sent to meet it. 

Gustavus was not present at the first battle, which was 
fought on the banks of the Dale River, for he was travelling 
about preaching a rising among the Swedes of the distant prov- 
inces, but he arrived just after, to find that the peasants had 
gained an overwhelming victory. The fruits of this first vic- 
tory were far-reaching. It gave the people confidence, thou- 
sands flocked to serve under Gustavus’s banner, and within a 
few months the whole country, excepting Stockholm and Cal- 
mar, was in his hands. Then the nobles, in gratitude to their 
deliverer, sought to proclaim him king, but this he refused as 
long as a single Swedish castle remained beneath the Danish 
yoke, so for two more years he ruled Sweden under the title of 
Lord Protector. Then in 1523, when Stockholm and Calmar 
at last surrendered, Gustavus Vasa was crowned king. 


188 



"Jhe Jtor^ o/ 

yVyoLi^ piTQHEl^ 


I T is a strange and interesting thing to see how history re- 
peats itself in a series of noble and picturesque incidents 
which are so much alike that they might be easily mis- 
taken for one another. Perhaps in the years to come they will 
be mistaken for one another, and then those learned scholars 
who love to deny all the things that are worth believing will 
say, as they say now of William Tell and the apple, “When- 
ever an event is represented as happening in different countries 
and among different nations, we may be sure that it never hap- 
pened at all.” Yet to Spain belongs Augustina, the Maid of 
Saragossa ; to England, brave Mary Ambree ; and to America, 
Molly Pitcher, the stout-hearted heroine of Monmouth; and 
these three women won for themselves honor and renown by 
the same valorous exploits. Augustina is the most to be en- 
vied, for her praises have been sung by a great poet ; Mary Am- 
bree has a noble ballad to perpetuate her fame ; Molly Pitcher 
is still without the tribute of a verse to remind her country- 
men occasionally of her splendid courage in the field. 

The Spanish girl was of humble birth, young, poor, and very 
handsome. When Saragossa was besieged by the French dur- 
ing the Peninsular War, she carried food every afternoon to the 
soldiers who were defending the batteries. One day the attack 


MOLLY PITCHER 


189 



was so fierce, and the fire so deadly, that by the gate of Por- 
tillo not a single man was left alive to repulse the terrible 
enemy. When Augustina reached the spot with her basket of 
coarse and scanty provisions, she saw the last gunner fall 
bleeding on the walls. Not for an instant did she hesitate ; but 
springing over a pile of dead bodies, she snatched the match 
from the stiffening fingers and fired the gun herself. Then 
calling on her countrymen to rally their broken ranks, she led 
them back so unflinchingly to the charge that the French were 
driven from the gate they had so nearly captured, and the 
honor of Spain was saved. When the siege was lifted and the 
city free, a pension was settled on Augustina, together with the 
daily pay of an artilleryman, and she was permitted to wear 
upon her sleeve an embroidered shield bearing the arms of 
Saragossa. Lord Byron, in his poem, “Childe Harold,” has de- 
scribed her beauty, her heroism, and the desperate courage 
with which she defended the breach : 

“Who can avenge so well a leader’s fall? 

What maid retrieve when man’s flushed hope is lost ! 
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, 

Foiled by a woman’s hand before a battered wall?” 

For the story of Mary Ambree we must leave the chroniclers 
— who, to their own loss and shame, never mention her at all 
— and take refuge with the poets. From them we learn all we 
need to know, and it is quickly told. Her lover was slain 
treacherously in the war between Spain and Holland, the Eng- 
lish being then allies of the Dutch ; and, vowing to avenge his 






190 


HISTORICAL TALES 



death, she put on his armor and marched to the siege of Ghent, 
where she fought with reckless courage on its walls. Fortune 
favors the brave, and wherever the maiden turned her arms the 
enemy was repulsed, until at last the gallant Spanish soldiers 
vied with the English in admiration of this valorous foe: 

“If England doth yield such brave lassies as thee. 

Full well may she conquer, faire Mary Ambree.” 

Even the Great Prince of Parma desired to see this dauntless 
young girl, and finding her as chaste as she was courageous and 
beautiful, he permitted her to sail for home without any moles- 
tation from his army. 

“Then to her own country she back did returne. 

Still holding the foes of faire England in scorne ; 
Therefore, English captaines of every degree 
Sing forth the brave valors of Mary Ambree.” 

And now for Molly Pitcher, who, unsung and almost unre- 
membered, should, nevertheless, share in the honors heaped so 
liberally upon the Spanish and English heroines. “A red- 
haired, freckled-faced young Irishwoman,” without beauty and 
without distinction, she was the newly-wedded wife of an artil- 
leryman in Washington’s little army. On June 28, 1778, was 
fought the battle of Monmouth, famous for the admirable tac- 
tics by which Washington regained the advantages lost 
through the negligence of General Charles Lee, and also for 
the splendid charge and gallant death of Captain Moneton, an 
officer of the English grenadiers. It was a Sunday morning. 






MOLLY PITCHER 


191 



close and sultry. As the day advanced, the soldiers on both 
sides suffered terribly from that fierce, unrelenting heat in 
which America rivals India. The thermometer stood at 96 in 
the shade. Men fell dead in their ranks without a wound, 
smitten by sunstroke, and the sight of them filled their com- 
rades with dismay. Molly Pitcher, regardless of everything 
save the anguish of the sweltering, thirsty troops, carried 
buckets of water from a neighboring spring, and passed them 
along the line. Back and forward she trudged, this strong, 
brave, patient young woman, while the sweat poured down her 
freckled face, and her bare arms blistered in the sun. ' She was 
a long time in reaching her husband — so many soldiers begged 
for drink as she toiled by — but at last she saw him, parched, 
grimy, spent with heat, and she quickened her lagging steps. 
Then suddenly a ball whizzed past, and he fell dead by the side 
of his gun before ever the coveted water had touched his black- 
ened lips, Molly dropped her bucket, and for one dazed mo- 
ment stood staring at the bleeding corpse. Only for a moment, 
for, amid the turmoil of battle, she heard the order given to 
drag her husband’s cannon from the field. The words roused 
her to life and purpose. She seized the rammer from the 
trodden grass, and hurried to the gunner’s post. There was 
nothing strange in the work to her. She was too well versed 
in the ways of war for either ignorance or alarm. Strong, skill- 
ful, and fearless, she stood by the weapon and directed its 
deadly fire until the fall of Moneton turned the tide of victory. 
The British troops under Clinton were beaten back after a 








192 


HISTORICAL TALES 



desperate struggle, the Americans took possession of' the field, 
and the battle of Monmouth was won. 

On the following day, poor Molly, no longer a furious Ama- 
zon, but a sad-faced widow, with swollen eyes, and a scanty 
bit of crape pinned on her broad young bosom, was presented 
to Washington, and received a sergeant’s commission with 
half-pay for life. It is said that the French officers, then fight- 
ing for the freedom of the colonies — that is, against the Eng- 
lish — were so delighted with her courage that they added to this 
reward a cocked hat full of gold pieces, and christened her “La 
Capitaine.” What befell her in after-years has never been told. 
She lived and died obscurely, and her name has well-nigh been 
forgotten in the land she served. But the memory of brave 
deeds can never wholly perish, and Molly Pitcher has won for 
herself a little niche in the temple of Fame, where her com- 
panions are fair Mary Ambree and the dauntless Maid of Sara- 
gossa. 


























